Chapter 2 - The Shadows of Collins Logistics
The twin Rolls-Royce Pearl 15 engines of the G650ER roared to life, a deep, powerful hum that vibrated through the floorboards as the aircraft taxied down the private runway. Outside the window, I watched the shrinking figure of Rebecca Collins standing on the tarmac, her coat billowing in the jet wash as she pulled her suitcase toward the distant fixed-base operator terminal.
She was calling someone on her cell phone. I didn't need to be a psychic to know who was on the other end of that line: her uncle, Richard Collins, the current Chairman of the Board and the man who had been running the company into the ground ever since Arthur Collins passed away two years ago.
"Mr. Hayes," Marcus Vance began, his voice trembling slightly as he pulled a thick, leather-bound folder from his briefcase. "If I may... regarding the four million dollars in surcharges you mentioned..."
I held up a hand, silencing him instantly. I didn't look at him; my eyes remained fixed on the cloud cover rising outside the oval window as the jet climbed effortlessly to thirty-five thousand feet.
"Save it for the Drake Hotel, Mr. Vance," I said smoothly. "I prefer to conduct financial dissections when all the vultures are present in the room."
"Vultures, sir?" Vance forced a hollow, nervous laugh. "We are here in good faith to finalize a partnership that will save three thousand jobs—"
"You are here because Collins Logistics is sixty days away from insolvency," I said, turning my gaze to lock onto his. The raw power in my eyes made him flinch. "You are here because your primary fuel suppliers have placed a lien on your fleet in Georgia. You are here because Richard Collins bled your operational reserves dry to fund his real estate developments in Miami. Do not talk to me about good faith, Vance. I bought your debt three weeks ago. I am not your potential investor. I am your sole creditor."
The atmosphere inside the cabin dropped below zero. The five executives looked at each other in sheer horror. They had believed this flight was a final pitch to sell a thirty percent minority stake in their company. They had no idea that behind the scenes, Hayes Global Capital had spent the last two months quietly buying up their defaulted loans, distressed bonds, and vendor liens.
They didn't own Collins Logistics anymore. I did. They just hadn't signed the funeral papers yet.
"David," I called out softly.
"Yes, Mr. Hayes?" David appeared instantly from the galley.
"Bring Mr. Vance a glass of scotch. He looks like he’s about to faint, and I need him conscious when we land."
"Right away, sir."
I slid my headphones over my ears, blocking out the sound of their whispered panicking, and pulled up the secondary file on my tablet.
This wasn't just about a rude woman on a private jet. It was never just about that.
Three months ago, an anonymous whistleblower inside Collins Logistics had sent an encrypted file to my personal server. The file contained evidence of systemic racial discrimination within the company's executive promotion track, deliberate wage suppression in their urban distribution centers, and a massive, fraudulent accounting scheme designed to siphon corporate pension funds into offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.
The whistleblower's name was Elena Vance—Marcus Vance's estranged younger sister, who worked as a senior compliance officer in their headquarters.
Two weeks after she sent me those files, Elena was abruptly fired, blacklisted from the logistics industry, and slapped with a massive non-disclosure lawsuit filed personally by Rebecca Collins and her uncle Richard.
They thought they had buried her. They thought her lack of financial resources would force her into a quiet, impoverished surrender. They didn't know that Elena Vance had been my college roommate's brightest star student at Chicago Law, or that I had been secretly funding her legal defense team through an independent civil rights foundation I chaired.
Rebecca Collins hadn't just insulted a stranger in a hoodie today. She had walked blindly into an execution chamber that had been carefully constructed over ninety days.
When the jet finally touched down at O'Hare International Airport two hours later, a fleet of three black Cadillac Escalades was already waiting on the tarmac beside the private terminal.
The sky over Chicago was grey and overcast, a freezing drizzle slicking the pavement.
As the air-stairs lowered, I pulled on a bespoke, dark charcoal cashmere overcoat over my hoodie, adjusting my silver cuffs before stepping down onto the tarmac.
A tall, sharply dressed Black woman in her early thirties stepped out of the lead Escalade, holding a sleek black umbrella over her head. She wore a tailored crimson suit that stood out brilliantly against the drab grey weather.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hayes," Elena Vance said, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips.
Behind me, Marcus Vance descended the stairs, clutching his briefcase. The moment his eyes fell on his sister standing beside my motorcade, he froze as if he had seen a ghost.
"Elena?" Vance gasped, his face turning pale. "What... what are you doing here?"
Elena looked at her brother with an icy, calm detachment that proved she had entirely severed the toxic bonds of her past. "I'm here for the board meeting, Marcus. As the newly appointed Interim CEO of Hayes Logistics Division."
Marcus looked like he had been struck by lightning. "Interim... what? Malcolm, you can't be serious! She’s a disgruntled former employee under a strict non-disclosure agreement!"
"That NDA was invalidated an hour ago by a federal judge in the Northern District of Illinois," I said smoothly, stepping into the back of the Escalade as the driver held the door open. "Along with the freeze order on Richard Collins's domestic bank accounts."
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I looked out at Marcus and the remaining shivering executives standing in the Chicago rain.
"Get in the second car, gentlemen," I commanded. "We have a board meeting at the Drake, and I'd hate for Richard to keep us waiting."
