Chapter 8 - The Counter-Strike on Davidson County
Miller stared at the satellite phone screen, his corporate confidence evaporating like morning mist off the Cumberland River. He knew the numbers on that display weren't bluffing; my underground collection network had operated on those exact sovereign channels for years, completely invisible to local judges and corporate raiders.
“You’re insane,” Miller whispered, taking an involuntary half-step backward. “If you liquidate those accounts outside state jurisdiction, the SEC and the state tax board will—.”
“Let them try,” I interrupted, stepping closer until he bumped into the shoulder of the security guard behind him. “You have exactly thirty seconds to clear this hallway, call off your emergency receivership motion in Nashville, and tell Tiffany that her little game is over. If you don't, I’m going to publish every wire transfer, every doctored hotel invoice, and every payroll receipt linking your firm to Walter Briggs’s frame job on the front page of the *Tennessean* before the afternoon edition goes to print.”
Miller looked at the two guards, then back at me. He could read the writing on the wall just as clearly as I could. A high-stakes corporate lawyer didn't risk disbarment and federal wire fraud exposure for a client whose ship was already sinking.
“This isn't over, Sullivan,” Miller muttered, gesturing sharply to his men. “You can’t outrun a court-ordered asset freeze forever.”
“Watch me,” I said.
The guards backed out of the doorway, and Miller hurried after them down the hallway, their hurried footsteps echoing away until the second floor fell silent once more.
Megan let out a long, trembling breath, sinking slowly back into the rocking chair while still holding Hazel securely against her chest. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and profound relief.
“You actually had a backup,” she murmured. “You weren't just bluffing.”
“I learned a long time ago never to put all my cargo in one truck,” I said, running a hand through my hair as the adrenaline finally began to ebb, leaving a dull, throbbing ache behind my temples. I looked down at the tiny baby girl sleeping peacefully beneath the oxygen tubes. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve been surviving on roadside scraps and hope for thirteen months, Garrett,” Megan said softly, a faint, sad smile touching the corners of her lips. “I’m tougher than you think.”
“I know you are,” I said, pulling up a metal chair and sitting down directly across from her. “And I’m sorry. For everything. No words are going to undo what Tiffany and Walter put you through, but I swear to you—by the time the sun goes down tonight, Tiffany won’t have a single corporate asset left to her name, and Walter will be answering to federal investigators.”
Megan nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back to the heart monitor. “The boys are at my sister’s place in Hickman County. Mason and Bryce are growing like weeds, Garrett. They have your stubborn chin and your eyes.”
Hearing those words felt like a physical redemption. For a year, I had believed the lies fed to me by the people I trusted most. Now, looking at Megan and my daughter, I knew the real war had only just begun.
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“We’re leaving this clinic,” I said, standing up and pulling out my satellite phone once more. “I’m chartering a private medical transport to take Hazel and you back to Nashville under heavy security. Walter and Tiffany are going to find out what happens when you corner a Sullivan.”
TITLE: The Glass Alibi
