Chapter 8 - The Price Of Loyalty
The following morning, the sun broke through the storm clouds, illuminating the gleaming steps of the Daniel Patrick Moynihan United States Courthouse in Lower Manhattan.
A fleet of black armored Suburbans pulled up to the curb. News cameras and federal marshals swarmed the plaza, their flashes illuminating the morning mist.
Victor Davis stepped out of the lead vehicle. He wore a midnight-blue three-piece suit, his posture immaculate, his jaw set like iron. Flanking him was his legal team, along with Marcus, who carried a thick steel briefcase.
And walking right beside Victor was Hannah. She wore a tailored black dress Victor had ordered for her that morning, her head held high, her eyes clear and unyielding.
In the courthouse lobby, Anthony Davis was waiting with his high-priced attorneys, looking smug and confident in front of the press microphones.
""My cousin’s reign over Davis Maritime is officially over,"" Anthony was boasting to a reporter from the Wall Street Journal. ""The evidence of illegal arms trafficking will speak for itself—""
""The only thing speaking today, Anthony, is your bank records,"" Victor’s voice cut through the lobby like a guillotine.
The reporters swung their cameras around as Victor and Hannah approached the podium. Anthony’s smile faltered, his face draining of color as he noticed the calm, lethal certainty in Victor’s eyes.
Hannah stepped forward, opening the leather portfolio she carried. She laid four certified documents onto the press table directly before the presiding assistant U.S. Attorney, who had been waiting for the formal hearing.
""These are the original port weight manifests from Antwerp,"" Hannah announced, her voice ringing clearly across the vaulted marble lobby. ""Along with the IP tracking logs confirming that the forged customs declarations were uploaded from a private server registered to Anthony Davis’s residence in Scarsdale.""
The federal prosecutor leaned down, examining the documents with sharp, sudden interest. ""Where did you get this metadata?""
""From the port authority’s primary backup server,"" Hannah replied smoothly. ""And if you cross-reference the serial numbers on the weapons seized last night at Hudson Tower with Anthony’s personal security procurement orders, you’ll find an exact match.""
Anthony lunged toward Hannah, his face twisted in venomous rage. ""You lying little—""
Victor stepped between them with lightning speed. He caught Anthony by the throat with one hand, lifting him off his feet until Anthony’s heels dangled two inches above the marble floor.
""Touch her,"" Victor whispered, his voice cold enough to freeze water, ""and the police won't find enough of you to put on trial.""
Two federal marshals stepped in immediately. ""Step back, Mr. Davis! We’ll take it from here.""
Victor released his grip, letting Anthony collapse in a coughing heap onto the floor. The marshals pulled Anthony’s arms behind his back, clicking heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.
""Anthony Davis, you are under arrest for conspiracy, perjury, and attempted murder,"" the lead agent declared, hauling him toward the holding cells as cameras flashed frantically.
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Victor turned to Hannah. In front of fifty reporters, federal agents, and television cameras, he reached out and took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers with tender, undeniable pride.
""Let's go home,"" Victor said.
