Chapter 4 - The Confession
The barn fell into a suffocating silence, save for the rhythmic clicking of the SUV's cooling engine outside.
Maeve felt the blood drain entirely from her face, the heavy leather notebook suddenly feeling like a dead weight in her hands.
"Working for you?" she repeated, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.
"That's a lie. My dad hated corporate suits. He swore he'd rather starve than sell out to men like you."
The man in the charcoal suit chuckled, unfolding the piece of paper with agonizing slowness.
"People change their tune when medical bills pile up, Miss Vance," he said smoothly, stepping just an inch closer to the threshold.
"Your father's lungs were failing for three years. Experimental treatments aren't cheap in this country. He came to us six months ago, offering to complete the very engine design he abandoned back in Austin, in exchange for private insurance coverage and a quiet retirement."
Jax planted his hands on his hips, his jaw locked so tight a muscle twitched in his graying beard.
"Don't listen to him, Maeve," Jax growled, never breaking eye contact with the corporate operative.
"These bastards lie for a living. They break men down until they sign away their souls, and then they throw them in the dirt."
"Check the signature, Mr. Miller," the suit replied, tossing the document onto the workbench right next to the motorcycle.
"You always were too proud to see how the real world works."
Maeve looked down at the paper, her breath catching in her throat.
It was her father's signature—shakier than it used to be, written with the unmistakable tremors of a dying man, but undeniably his.
A wave of dizziness washed over her, blurring the vintage blue metal of the bike into a wash of dark colors.
He hadn't just been working on the bike for her future; he had been trading away the family's legacy just to stay alive long enough to see another sunrise.
"Why?" Maeve choked out, a single tear finally breaking free and tracking down her freckled cheek.
"Why did he keep building it here if he was working for you?"
"Because the prototype required field-testing in uncontrolled environments," the suit answered matter-of-factly.
"Our laboratories couldn't replicate the specific torque ratios your father achieved in this barn. He was supposed to hand over the final calculations yesterday morning. Instead, he had a fatal attack."
The suit took another step into the barn, his hand sliding back toward his inner coat pocket.
"Which brings us back to my original request. Hand over the ledger, and I'll make sure your father's remaining debts to Apex Industries are written off."
Cole cracked his knuckles, looking at Jax for the signal.
"Boss, say the word and we'll throw this clown into the creek."
Jax raised his hand slightly, counseling patience, but his eyes were burning with a dangerous, long-suppressed fury.
"You want the book?" Jax asked quietly, stepping past Maeve to stand face-to-face with the corporate agent.
"You'll have to take it from the man who taught him how to wrench."
The suit's expression hardened into pure malice as his hand emerged from his jacket, gripping the heavy black grip of a silenced pistol.
May you like
"I was hoping you'd say that, old man."
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