Chapter 4 - The Sound of Breaking Concrete
Victor stopped ten feet away, his chest heaving as he tried to project an aura of brutal authority. He glanced sideways at Maria and Elena, then back at the two men in tailored suits.
"You think buying some worthless paper gives you ownership?" Victor sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "The city zoning board is in my pocket. The police captain drinks at my club. By tomorrow morning, those court orders will be sitting in a shredder."
Julian smiled, a cold, humorless stretching of his lips. "Let’s test that theory, Victor. Call your police captain right now."
Victor’s eyes narrowed. He pulled a heavy gold-plated smartphone from his pocket, his thick thumb punching a speed-dial button. He pressed the phone to his ear, glaring triumphantly at Julian. "Put me through to Chief Miller. Tell him Victor Vance is standing on 4th Street and needs a squad car to haul away two trespassing corporate rats."
The phone clicked against Victor's ear. He waited a second. Then two. The triumphant smirk on his face began to twitch as the line remained silent, save for a low, rhythmic electronic tone.
"Miller?" Victor barked. "Pick up the damn phone."
"Chief Miller is currently resigning his commission, Mr. Vance," a calm, clear voice spoke from behind the black SUVs.
Everyone turned. Another man in a dark trench coat was stepping out from the third vehicle, holding a portable encrypted radio.
"State internal affairs executed a search warrant on his precinct office twenty minutes ago," the man continued, walking briskly toward the group. "Bank records showed regular wire transfers from a shell company bearing your mother’s maiden name."
Victor’s face drained of all color. The gold-plated phone slipped from his trembling fingers, hitting the asphalt with a dull plastic clatter. "That's... that's impossible. That account was clean."
"Nothing is clean when you leave a twenty-year paper trail of extortion and municipal bribery," Marcus said, stepping into Victor’s personal space.
Victor swallowed hard, his bravado instantly evaporating into pure, unadulterated panic. He looked at his three hired thugs, but the men had already taken a cautious half-step backward, their hands lifting away from their waistbands as they realized the game was over.
"Who... who are you people?" Victor whimpered, his voice suddenly sounding small and pathetic. "What do you want?"
Julian reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a worn, greasy piece of cardboard. It was a fragment of a cardboard box, stained with old grease and dirt, with faded handwriting scrawled across it in black marker.
He held it up so Victor could see it clearly.
Victor stared at the cardboard, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What is that garbage?"
"That," Julian said softly, "is the eviction notice you served on three starving boys under the railway bridge during the blizzard of nineteen-ninety-eight. You threw our blankets into the freezing river because we couldn't pay the twenty-dollar 'sidewalk tax' you demanded from squatters."
May you like
Victor stepped back, his heel catching on the curb. He fell hard onto his backside in the middle of the street.
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