Chapter 53 - The Wall of Iron
The sound of fifty heavy diesel engines idling at high idle drowned out the remaining whine of the air-raid siren. Air brakes hissed in deafening, synchronized bursts of compressed air as the massive trucks locked their wheels, forming an unbroken circle of steel, chrome, and reinforced bumpers around the entire Vance repair facility.
The cab doors swung open.
Men and women in grease-stained Carhartt jackets, heavy steel-toed boots, and insulated gloves climbed down into the slush. There were sixty of them, then eighty, then a hundred. Loggers from the northern cut, long-haul drivers who had spent twenty years trusting Jared with their brakes and differentials, local farmers whose tractors he had fixed on Sunday mornings when the dealerships were closed.
Dave Henderson, a bear of a man with a graying beard and fists the size of small hams, stepped down from his Peterbilt and walked straight toward the lead security contractor.
The contractor reached for the pepper spray canister at his tactical belt. "This is an active commercial demolition zone under provincial permit! Clear this roadway immediately or you will be charged with criminal obstruction!"
Henderson didn't even slow his stride. He stopped six inches from the contractor's face, towering over him by half a foot, the freezing exhaust of his truck pluming behind his head like dragon's breath.
"You've got about three seconds to put that little spray bottle back in your purse, son," Henderson growled, his voice carrying effortlessly over the low thrum of the engines. "We aren't on the road. We're on an unorganized township right-of-way. And every truck here just happened to have an emergency hydraulic failure at the exact same second. We're disabled vehicles awaiting certified commercial repair. And funny thing is... the only certified heavy mechanic within forty miles is standing right behind you."
The contractor looked past Henderson. Behind the wall of truckers, three county sheriff cruisers had arrived, their red-and-blue lights strobing against the chrome of the Peterbilts.
Sheriff Tom Davies stepped out of the lead cruiser. He didn't unholster his sidearm. He was holding a leather folder and an official sealed envelope bearing the crest of the Supreme Court of Ontario.
"Stand down, son," Sheriff Davies said, walking up to the contractor and placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Your provincial demolition permit was quashed thirty minutes ago by an emergency injunction issued out of the divisional court in Toronto. This property is under the temporary protective custody of the Supreme Court pending a fraud investigation into Donald Sterling’s title application."
The contractor’s eyes darted frantically around the wall of truckers, the sheriff, and Jared Vance standing calmly in the open doorway of his shop with a steel rail spanner in his hands.
"This isn't over," the contractor spat, backing toward his command SUV. "Sterling’s corporate jet is already refueled in Toronto. He’s closing the acquisition directly with the transport minister at the summit in Huntsville at noon."
"No, he isn't," a new voice called out.
Miller stepped out from the passenger side of Sheriff Davies' cruiser. He was holding a briefcase, but he wasn't looking tired anymore. His jaw was set, and his eyes were sharp.
"Mr. Sterling isn't meeting the minister," Miller said, a cold smile touching his lips. "The Ontario Securities Commission just froze the trading accounts of Sterling Logistics International. And the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Integrated Market Enforcement Team is waiting for him at the Huntsville private airport with a federal warrant for corporate extortion, bribery of public officials, and criminal conspiracy."
Miller walked straight up to Jared, extending his hand. Jared took it, the lawyer's grip firm and steady.
"Where are the kids, Jared?" Miller asked quietly.
"Safe," Jared said. "They're safe."
"Then let's go finish this," Miller whispered. "The judge granted an expedited hearing for two o'clock. Sterling’s lawyers are making one last stand to dissolve the trust before the warrant is executed. If we don't present the original Crown charter in person, he walks on bail and the land goes into administrative receivership."
May you like
Jared looked at Dave Henderson. "Dave. Can you hold this line until I get back?"
Henderson spit into the snow and laid a massive hand on the hood of his truck. "Jared, a tank couldn't get through this driveway until you tell us it's time to move. Go get your family back."
