Chapter 3
The sudden locking of the courtroom doors sent a ripple of genuine panic through the gallery. Spectators who had arrived to watch a routine corporate liability hearing now realized they were trapped inside a theater of high-stakes espionage. Marcus Sterling rose smoothly to his feet, discarding his earlier pretense of vulnerability. He smoothed the front of his dark suit, adjusting his cuffs with unnerving calm, despite the fact that his multi-million-dollar conspiracy had just been laid bare on a federal judge's desk.
"You think exposing a few operational memos changes anything, Vance?" Sterling asked, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet room. "The apparatus that authorized Project Aegis is older than this courthouse. It feeds on stability, and stability requires actions that polite society prefers not to witness."
Elena didn't waste breath on a retort. She stepped closer to the bench, positioning herself between the judge and Sterling. Her tactical vest creaked softly as she shifted her weight, hand resting casually near her drop-leg holster. She had lived through enough black-ops contracts to know that men like Sterling never traveled without a contingency plan.
High above, Judge Eleanor Vance slammed her gavel down once more, though this time it was not to restore order, but to anchor her own crumbling composure. Her eyes, wide and glassy with disbelief, remained fixed on the white folder.
"Mr. Sterling," the judge said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper that somehow cut through the rising chaos of the room. "These pages detail the execution of American citizens on domestic soil under the guise of counter-terrorism. You sat in my courtroom for three weeks presenting fraudulent civil liability claims while orchestrating mass murder."
"I sat here because the protocol required a legal veneer," Sterling replied coolly, offering a thin, condescending smile. "And now, thanks to your little friend in the tactical gear, a security breach has been officially logged. Protocol dictates that containment procedures must be initiated."
May you like
From the back of the gallery, a middle-aged spectator—a civilian accountant who had accidentally won a lottery seat for the high-profile trial—stood up and pointed a shaking finger at Elena. The man’s face was pale, his eyes darting toward the silent, unblinking lenses of the automated court cameras broadcasting a delayed feed to the internal network.
"You..." the spectator stammered, his voice cracking with rising dread as he looked directly at the female mercenary. "I ran your badge number through the public judicial registry just now. Your name isn't in the system. You don't exist in the database."
