Chapter 6 - The Siege of Chicago
Five days later, I flew back to Chicago. Not because I was surrendering, but because it was time to oversee the final phase of the operation in person. I didn't return to the suburbs; I checked into a luxury high-rise suite downtown, overlooking the gray expanse of Lake Michigan.
Marcus Vance met me in the hotel's private conference room, throwing a thick folder of legal updates onto the table.
"They tried to file an emergency stay of foreclosure," Marcus said, chuckling as he poured himself a cup of water. "Brent actually went to the courthouse himself, wearing a borrowed suit that didn't fit him, trying to argue that they were victims of predatory lending by Aegis Holdings. The judge asked for their proof of payment history for the last twelve months."
"And what did they show?" I asked, a faint smile touching my lips.
"They showed the bank statements of your monthly $3,000 transfers," Marcus grinned, his eyes gleaming with professional satisfaction. "The judge looked at the statements, saw your name on every single deposit, looked at Brent, and asked him why the person suing them was the one who had been paying their bills. When Brent couldn't answer, the judge denied the stay immediately. The eviction clock is down to seventy-two hours."
Just then, Marcus’s assistant knocked on the door, her face pale. "Mr. Vance, we have a situation downstairs. Brent Hale is in the lobby. He somehow tracked your firm's car or followed your assistant from the courthouse. He's demanding to see Naomi."
I stood up before Marcus could object. "Call hotel security and the local precinct, Marcus. Let's go down and end this public performance."
When the elevator doors opened into the marble lobby, I saw Brent. He looked haggard, his eyes wild, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a cheap coat. When he spotted me, he lunged forward, but two burly hotel security guards instantly intercepted him, pinning his arms to his sides.
"Naomi!" he screamed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings, drawing the stares of the wealthy hotel guests. "You think you're so smart? You think you can use your corporate money to destroy our family? You're a monster! Mom is sick! She's staying in a motel room because of you!"
I walked over to him, stopping exactly three feet away. I looked at his bloodshot eyes, his trembling jaw, and realized that the terrifying brother who had dominated my life for a decade was nothing more than a frightened, small child throwing a tantrum.
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"I didn't put Mom in a motel, Brent. Your complete incompetence did," I said, my voice low and steady, carrying perfectly through the sudden silence of the lobby. "You told me I was a parasite who bought control with money. Well, the money is gone. Let's see how much control your manhood buys you now. The federal crimes division has the forgery files for Dad's company reserves. I'd worry less about the house and more about your defense attorney."
All the rage evaporated from Brent’s face, replaced by a cold, paralyzing terror as the distant sound of police sirens began to wail down the street.
