Chapter 7
Thirty miles away from the quiet diner, inside the sprawling, glass-fronted corporate headquarters of Miller Logistics, Arthur Miller was having a very bad afternoon. The fifty-year-old shipping tycoon sat behind a massive mahogany desk, staring at a flashing red alert on his desktop terminal. His company’s automated compliance monitor had just flagged an emergency freeze on three separate federal supply sub-contracts—contracts worth upwards of twelve million dollars in government logistics subsidies.
Arthur stabbed at his intercom button with a manicured finger. "Miss Higgins! Get me the regional procurement director at the Department of Defense on line one right now! And someone find out why our transit accounts are locked!"
The intercom crackled with static before his executive assistant’s jittery voice replied. "Mr. Miller... there's a problem. Your son, Toby... he was just picked up by state troopers near Oak Creek Diner."
Arthur froze, his hand hovering over the desk phone. A cold knot formed in his stomach. "Toby? What the hell is Toby doing in Oak Creek? He was supposed to be picking up boat parts in the city!"
"He... well, according to the state police dispatcher, he got into some kind of road rage incident with a military transport vehicle," the assistant whispered, as if speaking the words aloud might summon an audit team directly into the office. "And Mr. Miller... the military is involved. Directly. A general and two transport MPs took over the scene."
Arthur stood up so fast his leather executive chair rolled backward and slammed into the wood-paneled wall behind him. "A general? Over a fender bender? Are you out of your mind? Call our county attorney! Call Judge Callahan! Nobody touches my son over a stupid traffic argument!"
"Mr. Miller," the assistant’s voice trembled audibly through the small speaker box, "the federal authorities didn't just cite him for reckless driving. They flagged him for interfering with classified logistics transport, property damage, and assaulting a federal service member."
Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. Miller Logistics relied entirely on government defense sub-contracts to stay profitable. If the Pentagon decided to label his company as a security liability because his idiot son couldn't control his temper behind the wheel of a leased sports car, the entire family empire would collapse like a house of cards within forty-eight hours.
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He grabbed his suit jacket off the brass coat rack, his hands shaking as he jammed his arms into the sleeves. He needed to get to the county precinct immediately, before the paperwork became permanent.
***
