Chapter 5 - Echoes in the Steel CorridorMarcus Vance turned around, his flushed face twisting into a sneer when he saw Christian. But the moment his eyes flicked over to me standing behind him holding the audit ledgers, a flicker of nervous calculation crossed his eyes.
“Thorne,” Marcus spat, forcing a crude, dismissive laugh. “I heard you were out of the shadows, playing corporate savior with your little street-level charity cases. But you can’t intimidate the port commission with goons and legal theatrics. This foundry is operating under expired municipal permits.”
Christian didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t threaten him with violence. He simply reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a pristine, blue-backed federal injunction stamped by the U.S. District Court of Eastern Michigan just two hours earlier, and laid it flat on the shop steward’s desk.
“Expired permits, Marcus?” Christian asked, tilting his head slightly. “Let’s check the timestamp on federal docket 44-B. That’s the injunction freezing every municipal asset controlled by the Vance family trust pending an investigation into systemic extortion, tax evasion, and the illegal seizure of Maria Thorne’s estate.”
Marcus’s bravado evaporated instantly. The red color drained from his face until he looked like curdled milk. He reached out with trembling fingers to grab the document, but Christian casually slid it out of reach.
“You... you can’t do this,” Marcus stammered, backing away until his spine hit the industrial lathe. “The commission has political backing in Lansing! The governor’s office won't let you—!”
“The governor’s office,” Christian interrupted, his voice dropping into a lethal, grinding whisper, “was briefed on your family’s embezzlement schemes at nine o'clock this morning. By noon, your political sponsors had already returned your campaign donations. You have forty-eight hours to clear your personal belongings out of the municipal building, Marcus. After that, the federal marshals take over the locks.”
Marcus glared at Christian with unadulterated venom, then cast a hateful glance in my direction. “You think you’ve won, you little back-alley clerk? The syndicate isn't just a few bus terminals and scrap yards. You’re playing a game you don't understand!”
With a furious curse, Marcus shoved past us, storming out through the bay doors and slamming his town car door so hard the glass rattled in the frames.
I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I was holding, looking up at Christian with a mixture of awe and apprehension. “He’s desperate, Christian. A cornered animal is dangerous.”
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Christian turned his silver-gray eyes toward me, the lethal edge in his expression melting away into something remarkably gentle. He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers lightly brushing against my shoulder.
“Let him run,” Christian murmured. “Every step he takes just leads him deeper into the federal trap we’ve set. You did incredible work on those audit books, Sarah. Come on—let’s get out of this soot. I want to show you something.”
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