Chapter 8 - Men in Dark Suits
The restaurant's warm, ambient lighting seemed to dim as the two federal agents scanned the dining room with cold, practiced efficiency. Their dark suits, crisp white shirts, and unsmiling expressions marked them instantly as outsiders in this sanctuary of wealth and leisure.
Clara instinctively grabbed the sleeve of Ethan's brown vest, her green dress rustling as she pulled him back toward the table. "Ethan, look. Federal marshals. They're already here."
Ethan slipped the brass key into his trouser pocket, his fingers curling into a tight fist. "How did they track us here so fast? We've been off the grid for less than an hour."
"Marcus didn't just frame you on paper," Arthur murmured, not a single drop of panic in his gravelly voice. He calmly adjusted the cuffs of his blue suit. "He routed the compliance flag directly through the Department of Justice's priority queue. He wanted an immediate public arrest to humiliate you and cement his control over the board."
Sarah shifted the sleeping boy tighter against her chest, her dark wavy hair falling forward to shield the child's face. "We can't go out through the front lobby. They'll make a spectacle of the boy, and I won't have him dragged into this media circus."
"There's a service exit through the wine cellar," Ethan said, his mind racing through the architectural layout of the historic building. "My grandfather helped design this restaurant back in the seventies. The service corridor leads directly into the alley behind the parking garage."
"Move, then," Arthur ordered quietly. "Don't run, don't look back. Just walk like you own the place."
Ethan turned to Clara, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Clara, you need to go home. Take your car and wait for me there. This doesn't need to destroy your life too."
Clara stared at him, her eyes flashing with hurt and defiance. "After everything we've built, you think I'm just going to hide in the suburbs while you walk into a federal trap with a dead ghost and your ex-fiancée?" She pointed an accusing finger at Sarah. "I'm staying right beside you, Ethan. Whether you like it or not."
One of the federal agents at the front entrance spotted them. He murmured something into his lapel mic and began walking purposefully across the polished floorboards toward their table.
"Time's up," Arthur said grimly.
May you like
Ethan grabbed Clara's hand, while Sarah led the way toward the discreet velvet-curtained archway leading down to the kitchen and wine cellar. As they slipped behind the heavy velvet drapes, the federal agent called out sharply behind them, "Mr. Vance! Stop right there!"
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