Chapter 9 - The Shadow of Retaliation
Though the board had purged Victor Lang and Brent Cole, corporate corruption rarely disappears overnight without a fight. Unbeknownst to Daniel, displaced executives do not go quietly into the night, especially when millions of dollars in embezzled venture funds hang in the balance.
Late on Christmas night, while the rest of the neighborhood slept under a blanket of white snow, a sleek black sedan parked three houses down from Daniel’s residence. Inside the vehicle sat Gregory Vance, a ruthless corporate attorney who had secretly represented Lang’s offshore subsidiary accounts.
"He thinks he won," Gregory muttered into a encrypted satellite phone, staring at the warm glow of Christmas lights shining through Daniel’s living room window. "The board reinstated him, and the whistleblower files are locked in the audit vault."
"I don't care about the board," a cold, distorted voice crackled through the speaker—none other than Brent Cole, hiding out in a downtown hotel. "Mercer has copies of the secondary ledger on a flash drive at his house. If the federal prosecutors get that ledger, our assets are frozen forever. Break into his house. Find the drive. Do whatever it takes."
Gregory grinned, sliding a leather-wrapped crowbar out from beneath the passenger seat. "Consider it done. Merry Christmas to Mr. Mercer."
The black sedan crept forward, cutting its headlights as it pulled up near Daniel's driveway. Gregory stepped out silently into the freezing night air, pulling a dark beanie low over his forehead. He slipped around the side of the house toward the back patio sliding door, testing the latch. It clicked—unlocked.
He quietly slid the glass door open, stepping into the dark kitchen, the floorboards groaning ever so slightly beneath his heavy boots. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, sweeping its beam across the countertops, searching for a home office, a briefcase, or a stray laptop.
Suddenly, the kitchen overhead lights flooded the room with brilliant illumination, blinding him momentarily.
May you like
Gregory froze. Standing at the entrance of the hallway was Daniel Mercer, wearing a comfortable flannel pajama set, holding a heavy baseball bat loosely in his right hand, looking completely calm.
"You really should have checked the security logs before breaking in, Gregory," Daniel said steadily, his voice echoing in the quiet house. "The front door isn't the only thing wired to the plant's backup network."
