Chapter 6 - The Viper's Strike
The snow was falling faster by Friday night, turning the gravel-strewn expanse of the Hammond Rail Yard into a white desert of rusted steel and frozen tracks.
Inside the old repair bay, the air was freezing, the only light coming from the single halogen bulb hanging from the corrugated iron roof. Gregory Pierce stood near the central electrical junction box, his expensive cashmere overcoat covered in grease, his hands shaking as he tried to open the security panel with a crowbar.
"The server blocks are encrypted, Gregory!" a voice called out from the dark near the door.
Evelyn Pierce walked into the bay, her mink coat dragged through the gray slush of the floor. Her face was haggard, her silver hair uncombed, her diamonds gone—sold three days prior to pay the retainer for her criminal defense lawyers. "The federal marshals are already at the Aster Street apartment. We have to clear the physical drives before they trace the token allocations back to my personal account."
"I’m trying!" Gregory screamed, slamming the crowbar against the iron panel with a force that sent sparks flying across the concrete. "The password was changed! Clara... she must have updated the administrative key before she left the tower!"
"She didn't change it from the tower, Gregory," a cool, melodic voice whispered from the doorway of the bay.
The mother and son spun around, their breath catching in the freezing air.
Clara stood there, wrapped in a thick black wool coat, her winter boots planted firmly in the slush. Behind her stood Gabriel Falco, flanked by four tall security guards in dark gray tactical suits.
"Clara..." Gregory gasped, taking a step back, his hand still clutching the crowbar. "You... you can't be here. This is private property."
"This property was purchased by Falco Logistics at the bankruptcy auction two hours ago, Gregory," Gabriel said, stepping into the light. He didn't have a weapon, but his presence alone made the two remaining Pierce family members look like mice trapped in a cellar. "The drives you’re trying to destroy have already been mirrored by the federal compliance task force. The marshals aren't at your apartment anymore, Evelyn. They’re standing outside the gate of this yard."
Evelyn looked at Clara, her eyes wild with an old, upper-class rage that had turned into something desperate and animalistic. She reached into her coat pocket, her hand closing around a small, silver penknife she had kept from her desk. "You miserable little gutter rat," she hissed, lunging forward toward Clara’s pregnant belly. "You ruined my family! You ruined my son!"
Hawk, Gabriel’s lead driver, didn't even need to draw his weapon. He stepped into the space between them, catching Evelyn’s wrist with a sickening crack that made the older woman drop the knife to the concrete with a sharp cry of agony.
Gregory dropped the crowbar, falling to his knees in the gray slush of the floor. He wept, his forehead pressing against the cold concrete, his hands covering his face. "Clara... please... tell them to stop. The baby... it’s a Pierce. You can't let your child’s grandmother go to prison. Think of the name."
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Clara looked down at the weeping billionaire, her expression entirely devoid of anger. There was only a vast, infinite distance inside her green eyes—the distance of a woman who had walked through a freezing storm and found the far shore.
"The baby doesn't have your name, Gregory," Clara said softly, her voice carrying the absolute weight of a finalized contract. "Her name is Elena Falco. And her father is the man who kept her warm while you were busy turning off the lights."
