Chapter 6 - The Nine O'Clock Injunction
The brass clock on the wall of the federal courthouse ticked toward nine o'clock with the slow, agonizing precision of a ticking bomb.
I sat on the wooden bench in the crowded corridor, wearing the same mud-streaked work boots and damp rain jacket I had worn the night before. Sophie was resting her head against my shoulder, fast asleep despite the echoing footsteps of lawyers, bailiffs, and litigants rushing past us. I kept one arm firmly around her small frame while my right hand held a secure encrypted phone linked straight to our corporate legal team in Richmond.
"Mr. Mercer?"
I looked up. Arthur Pendelton hurried down the corridor, his face pale, clutching a thick stack of blue-backed legal briefs against his chest like a shield. He dropped onto the bench beside me, breathing heavily.
"They filed it at seven-thirty this morning," Arthur whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Sophie. "An emergency asset-freeze petition targeting the educational trust fund under a technicality in the twenty-eighteen commercial lien code. The presiding judge is Judge Harrison—a man who has deep financial ties to Victor Vance’s real estate holdings."
I didn't blink. I had anticipated that Victor would use judicial patronage; men like Vance never fought fair because they couldn't survive in a fair fight.
"Did you bring the secondary contingency files I requested at midnight?" I asked, my voice calm and completely steady.
Arthur swallowed hard, opening the top flap of his folder to reveal a crisp, certified document bearing the raised gold seal of the United States Department of Justice. "The federal antitrust audit regarding Victor’s dummy corporations? Yes, sir. But Judge Harrison's clerk just notified us that they are refusing to hear counter-motions until the preliminary injunction on the trust fund is processed."
"They want to lock the trust before we can introduce evidence of market manipulation," I said, sliding my arm carefully out from under Sophie and standing up. I gently transferred her to Arthur, who caught her instinctively, his eyes widening in alarm.
"Mr. Mercer, what are you doing? The bailiff is calling Docket 412 right now. You can't walk into Federal Court looking like—"
"Like a working man who just caught someone trying to steal his daughter's future," I interrupted, buttoning my rain jacket. "Hold her, Arthur. I'll be right back."
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The heavy oak doors of Courtroom 3B swung open as I strode forward, the rubber soles of my work boots making a quiet, purposeful thud against the marble floor.
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