Chapter 7 - The Confession in the Dust
The heavy iron bolt slid home with a definitive, chilling clack.
Garrett’s hand froze halfway inside his jacket, his fingers twitching inches from the grip of a nickel-plated automatic pistol. He looked up at Bruno on the catwalk, then back at Lincoln, and finally his panicked gaze landed squarely on me. The veneer of untouchable corporate arrogance was completely gone, leaving only the desperate, feral cornered rat beneath.
“You think locking me in a warehouse solves anything?” Garrett spat, his voice cracking slightly as he slowly pulled his empty hand out of his jacket and raised it defensively. “The board knows I’m here. If I don't check in by one o'clock, an automated protocol releases every single internal memo regarding your illegal acquisitions to the federal district attorney, Lincoln.”
Lincoln didn't even flinch. He walked slowly toward Garrett, his boots echoing sharply against the concrete floor, closing the distance until he towered a full head over the younger man.
“Let them release it,” Lincoln said softly, his voice a lethal whisper. “Because unlike you, Garrett, every acquisition I ever made was backed by blood, sweat, and legal paper. But your embezzlement of four million dollars from the logistics division? That’s wire fraud, tax evasion, and interstate extortion. Federal penitentiary-bound.”
Garrett laughed—a high, unhinged sound that bounced off the corrugated walls. “You think federal prison scares me? You think you’re the only monster running this city, Lincoln? I was just the janitor cleaning up your mess!”
“Enough,” I snapped, stepping forward and dropping the heavy manila folder onto a wooden crate between us. I slapped my hand down hard against the cardboard. “Drop the melodrama, Garrett. We have the ledger logs, the IP tracking from the Meridian Holding server, and the audio transcripts of your burner phone coordinating the extortion of my niece.”
Garrett’s eyes flickered down to the folder, his pupils dilating. For a second, he looked like he wanted to lunge across the crates and tear the papers to shreds, but Bruno’s heavy footsteps descending the metal staircase behind him kept him frozen in place.
“You’re finished, Garrett,” I said, my voice dropping into a cold, steady register. “The only choice you have left is whether you spend the next twenty years in a maximum-security federal box or if you start talking right now about who else in the executive suite is helping you.”
Garrett stared at me, his chest heaving under his ruined Italian suit. Slowly, a twisted, bitter smile crept across his lips. He looked past me, fixing his gaze directly on Lincoln.
“You really think it was just me, boss?” Garrett chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “You spend all your time looking at the ledgers in the logistics department, but you haven't looked at the board of directors in three years. Who do you think signed off on the Meridian shell company registration while you were recovering from the shooting eight months ago?”
Lincoln’s eyes narrowed instantly, the air in the warehouse growing so cold I could feel the chill on my skin. “Name names.”
“Ask Victoria Vance,” Garrett whispered, his smile widening into something truly malevolent. “Or better yet... ask your own corporate legal counsel who inherited your father’s estate.”
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Before Lincoln could grab him by the collar, the lights in the entire warehouse abruptly clicked off, plunging us into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
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