My Domination Begins With A Divorce

22

Chapter 22: The Fall of the Commissioner

The live audio of Damian Montgomery's voice continued to loop through the courtyard speakers, bouncing off the brick walls with concussive finality.

Inside the mobile production van parked two blocks away on Maple Street, Gavin Hayes' technical director screamed through his headset, his hands slapping the mixing console in a blind panic. "Kill the feed! Hayes, kill the broadcast right now! Switch to commercial programming!"

"I cannot drop the signal!" the satellite technician yelled back from the rack mounts, tears of frustration gathering in his eyes. "The uplink has been hijacked by a root master cipher from Zurich! The feed is hard-locked into every television network in the province! Over four million people are watching this screen right now!"

Out on the pavement, the crowd of civilian onlookers erupted into a deafening roar of pure outrage.

"Murderers!" a middle-aged hospital orderly screamed, hurling a half-empty plastic coffee cup that splashed dark liquid across the front of Kovacs' composite riot shield. "You tried to suffocate the children on the fourth floor!"

A barrage of empty plastic bottles, gravel, and trash rained down upon the ranks of the tactical contractors from the perimeter fence, forcing the front rank to raise their shields against the fury of their own neighbors.

Commissioner Bradley stood completely paralyzed in the center of the driveway, his chest heaving like a dying fish as he looked at the massive glowing LED screen exposing twelve years of his corruption to the state.

"Turn it off," Bradley whispered, his voice cracking into a high, ragged screech.

He spun around to face Ethan, his eyes wide and bloodshot with madness as he reached frantically beneath the left lapel of his tailored jacket. His trembling fingers wrapped around the textured grip of a black nine-millimeter service pistol, yanking the weapon from its leather holster.

"Turn that screen off right now!" Bradley screamed, leveling the barrel directly at Ethan's chest with both hands shaking violently. "Turn it off or I swear to God I will blow your brains across this asphalt!"

Director Thomas let out a horrified shout from the top of the stairs, but Ethan did not flinch. He did not shift his feet, and he did not blink. He stood immovable on the first step, staring down the black muzzle of the pistol with cold, absolute indifference.

Before Bradley's finger could tighten against the trigger, a piercing federal siren split the air from the north.

Three matte-black, unmarked Dodge Charger sedans mounted the concrete curb at fifty miles per hour, their heavy steel push-bumpers smashing through the yellow municipal barricades in a shower of splintering plastic. The vehicles screeched to a halt in a tight triangular formation around Bradley and Damian, their tires smoking against the asphalt.

The doors kicked open simultaneously.

Ten federal marshals in dark navy windbreakers with bright yellow lettering stenciled across their chests spilled onto the pavement, their short-barreled tactical carbines raised and centered on Bradley's chest.

At the head of the federal squad strode Captain Ronald Meyer, his gold shield catching the midday sun as he drew his service weapon with smooth, terrifying speed.

"Arthur Bradley!" Captain Meyer's voice boomed across the courtyard like thunder, drowning out the shouting crowd. "Drop that weapon and get on your knees right now! Drop it!"

Bradley looked from Ethan's frozen gaze to the ten red targeting lasers dancing across his chest.

The heavy steel pistol slipped from his slick, sweaty palm, clattering against the rough asphalt with a dull metallic bounce.

Bradley's knees gave out completely. The fat commissioner collapsed onto the pavement like a sack of wet flour, his hands clutching the rough stone as two federal marshals pinned his shoulders to the ground with their tactical boots.

CLICK. RATCHET.

The heavy steel transport handcuffs locked around Bradley's wrists with cold, mechanical finality.

Captain Meyer stepped forward, planting his boot beside the fallen g*n, pulling an embossed white parchment warrant from his vest pocket to read directly into the lenses of the hovering news cameras:

"Arthur Bradley, by authority of the Chief Magistrate of the Third District Federal Court, you are under arrest for federal racketeering, conspiracy to commit corporate manslaughter, public endangerment, and the illegal acceptance of foreign wire bribes."

Bradley sobbed into the dirt, his face smeared with black road grime and tears as he twisted his neck toward Damian Montgomery's polished loafers.

"Damian!" Bradley wailed, his voice cracking into a pathetic, choking whimper. "Damian, tell them! Tell them your father signed off on the zoning conduit! You promised your family's legal team would protect me! You swore to me, Damian!"

Damian Montgomery took two rapid, involuntary steps backward, pulling his camel-hair lapels tight around his throat, his face pale as curdled milk as he looked away from the blubbering commissioner.

"I have no connection to this man," Damian said loudly, addressing the news cameras with desperate, toxic venom. "Bradley is a rogue municipal clerk who acted entirely on his own volition! Titan Heavy Industries is an innocent commercial purchaser that holds a lawful, state-certified land deed! You cannot hold a private corporation responsible for the crimes of a city bureaucrat!"

Ethan stepped off the final marble riser, walking across the open asphalt until he stood less than two paces from Damian.

"You are not an innocent purchaser, Damian," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a register of quiet, lethal finality that silenced the surrounding reporters. "You are an insolvent bankrupt who owes sixty million dollars to German creditors by four o'clock this afternoon."

Damian flinched as if struck by a physical whip, his teeth grinding together until his jaw trembled with apoplectic fury.

"Bankrupt?" Damian sneered through his rising hysteria, pointing a trembling finger toward the sixty-ton crane idling behind him. "You insolent beggar! Titan Heavy Industries holds twenty billion dollars in industrial equipment and state infrastructure charters! My father plays golf with the governor! Even if Bradley rots in a cage, Titan still owns the dirt beneath your shoes, and we will bring this entire pavilion down around your head!"

Ethan looked at Damian with cold, unyielding pity.

"Your father does not own this company anymore, Damian," Ethan said. "And the hammer has already fallen."