Chapter 8 - Twenty Minutes to Midnight
The digital clock on the wall of Warden Vance’s office ticked forward mercilessly: 14:42.
"They're going to bury it," Thomas muttered from the floor, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping his lips. "You can have all the evidence in the world, Director, but if a federal judge with family ties to the conspiracy locks the courtroom doors, you'll never see a courtroom."
Martha didn't blink. She set the heavy telephone receiver back onto its cradle with deliberate slowness. She turned her attention to Captain Hayes, who stood at attention near the shattered doorway.
"Captain," Martha said crisply, shedding the old-woman persona entirely, her voice carrying the absolute command of a four-star general. "How fast can your tactical team secure a private transport to the airfield?"
"Chopper’s on the pad outside, Director. Engines are already warm," Hayes replied instantly. "We can have you in the air in three minutes."
"Good," Martha said, walking past the cowering warden without sparing him a second glance. "Because we aren't waiting for a jurisdiction battle. We're going to hand the original affidavit directly to the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court before Judge Vance can swing his gavel."
Thomas scrambled up to his knees, clutching at the hem of Martha’s trench coat. "You can't just bypass the district court! That’s treason—that’s a breach of protocol!"
Martha looked down at him with eyes as cold and unforgiving as winter ice.
"Protocol is what you and your family used to murder my husband’s legacy for fifty years, Thomas," Martha said, gently pulling her coat free from his grip. "My turn."
May you like
She strode out of the office, stepping over the splintered wood into the corridor where federal marshals stood waiting in a tight, protective formation. As they moved at a brisk pace toward the administrative exit, the heavy steel doors of Block C echoed with the distant, chaotic shouts of inmates realizing that the prison's iron grip had finally been broken from the inside out.
---
