Chapter 10 - Sirens in the Snow
The blood drained from my face. I grabbed the phone, staring at the glowing screen as the sender’s number vanished into an encrypted relay.
“Federal marshals?” My father turned sharply from the window, his expression darkening into pure fury. “Richard wouldn't dare. That’s a federal abuse of process.”
“He dares because he knows the board is desperate,” Elena said, her professional composure finally cracking as she scrambled to pack her briefcase. “If they can slap a temporary psychiatric hold on you under the emergency corporate governance clause, they can force-sign the proxy authorization while you’re detained.”
Cassandra slammed her pen down onto the table, her green eyes blazing with a fierce, terrifying intensity. “I told you. You can’t outrun the empire you built, Damon. It followed you right to my front door.”
Outside, cutting sharply through the quiet white blanket of the Denver snowstorm, the unmistakable wail of distant police sirens began to echo down the avenue, growing louder with every passing second. Red and blue strobe lights flashed against the frost-covered windows of the duplex, painting the living room walls in frantic, pulsing hues.
“They’re here,” my father said, striding toward the front door and looking out through the peephole. “Two unmarked black SUVs and a local cruiser pulling up to the curb.”
“We need to go out the back,” Elena urged, unlatching her briefcase and thrusting the unsigned trust documents into Cassandra’s hands. “If they serve those papers before the registry opens at 8:00 AM, the trust is void.”
I looked at Luke sleeping peacefully on the couch, and down the hall where Violet was resting in her room. Panic threatened to paralyze me, but looking at Cassandra, I saw no fear left—only an unbreakable resolve.
“Dad, take Elena out the back alley to her car and get those documents filed electronically the second you cross county lines,” I instructed rapidly, shedding my suit jacket and rolling up my sleeves. “Cassandra, wake the kids. We’re getting out through the garage.”
“Damon, where will we go?” Cassandra asked, grabbing her coat from the peg by the door as heavy boots crunched loudly onto the front porch steps, followed by a loud, authoritative knock that shook the entire frame of the house.
“Open up! Federal Marshals Service! Open the door!” a voice bellowed from the porch.
May you like
I grabbed Cassandra’s hand, pulling her toward the kitchen as the front door handle rattled violently under a heavy hand.
“We go wherever we have to,” I said, my voice steady as the sound of splintering wood echoed from the front entryway. “Just don't let go of my hand.”
