Chapter 7 - The Summoning
By dawn, the blizzard had blanketed the Mid-Atlantic in three feet of pristine, blinding snow, paralyzing traffic from Baltimore down to Richmond. Mercer Logistics was completely dark—its executive offices shuttered by federal marshals, its digital servers locked down behind military-grade encryption, and its stock trading halted pending an emergency SEC review.
Inside the Great Falls mansion, the heat had mysteriously dropped two degrees as the smart-home thermostat struggled to compensate for the power grid fluctuations.
Richard Mercer sat alone in his leather study, the mahogany desk littered with printed pages of federal injunctions, asset forfeiture notices, and frantic emails from board members demanding answers. His coffee had gone cold hours ago, a thin skin forming over the dark liquid.
The heavy oak door swung open without a knock. Celeste stood in the doorway, her hair unbrushed, her face pale under a layer of expensive night cream.
"The bank just called," Celeste said, her voice shaking with a mixture of terror and fury. "Our personal accounts—the secondary liquidity lines—they’ve been frozen under the anti-money laundering provisions tied to the shell company."
Richard didn't look up from the papers. "I know."
"Where is Bryce?"
"He’s upstairs in his room," Richard said dully. "Throwing up."
Celeste marched into the study, slamming her hand down on the edge of the mahogany desk. "This isn't just some random federal audit, Richard! That attorney—Arthur Harrison—he didn't just stumble onto those files. Those documents were compiled with military precision. Every routing number, every offshore transfer, every hidden ledger entry—it was organized like an intelligence briefing!"
Richard slowly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them sagging with exhaustion. "I know who organized it."
Celeste stared at him, her breath catching. "Leah."
"She didn't stay at Fort Mason because of the storm," Richard whispered, the realization tasting like ash in his mouth. "She stayed because she knew the exact moment the federal magistrate would sign the warrant. She wanted me to be sitting at that table when the news broke."
"Then call her!" Celeste hissed, grabbing his arm. "Use whatever authority you have left as her father! Order her to call off her lawyers!"
Richard pulled his arm away with a slow, deliberate motion. He looked at his wife—the woman who had helped him ease Margaret out of the company twelve years ago, who had orchestrated Bryce’s rise with smooth dinners and calculated exclusions—and realized, with absolute clarity, that they were completely, utterly alone.
"I don't have any authority left, Celeste," Richard said quietly. "And neither do you."
Before Celeste could answer, her phone—lying on the edge of the desk—began to ring. The caller ID simply read: UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Richard stared at the glowing screen. "Answer it."
Celeste reached out with a trembling hand, swiped the screen, and pressed it to her ear. "Hello?"
May you like
A crisp, calm, unmistakably professional voice answered from the other end of the line.
"This is Captain Leah Mercer, United States Army. I am calling pursuant to the federal receivership order for Mercer Logistics. My counsel and the federal marshals are at the front gate. You have twenty minutes to vacate the premises before the locks are changed."
