Chapter 7 - The Wrath of the Brooks Syndicate
Nathan stared down at me in stunned silence,
his dark eyes narrowing as if he were trying to determine whether the trauma of the morning had caused me to lose my mind.
“No,”
he said immediately,
his voice dropping into that flat,
unquestionable tone he used with his captains.
“You are my wife,
you are inside the most fortified estate in Pima County,
and you are going to stay behind these steel blast doors with Noah and Lily until Marco and I burn that warehouse to the ground.”
“I am not hiding under a bed while you fight my battles,
Nathan,”
I countered fiercely,
refusing to shrink back from his imposing frame.
“For three years,
Garrett Parker made me feel like an insect he could crush under his boot whenever he lost a poker hand or ran out of whiskey.
He terrorized my son,
he tried to poison my daughter today for twenty thousand dollars and a plane ticket,
and if you think I am going to sit in a gilded cage while other people decide my fate,
you bought the wrong wife on that highway.”
Nathan’s eyebrows rose,
a flicker of dark,
reluctant admiration flashing across his stern features before his expression hardened once more.
“This isn’t a domestic dispute in a trailer court,
Emily,”
he warned,
taking a half-step closer until his shadow completely engulfed me.
“Garrett isn’t alone in that rail yard.
Julian’s private security team—ex-military contractors who don’t care about court orders or family charters—are stationed around the perimeter with automatic weapons.
When I walk through those warehouse doors,
there will be no negotiations,
no polite warnings,
and no second chances.
It is going to be bloody,
it is going to be loud,
and you have never seen what I am truly capable of when someone threatens what belongs to me.”
“I saw a man bleeding out from a gunshot wound in a diner alley fourteen months ago,”
I shot back,
my voice steady and clear as glass.
“I saw you bite down on a leather belt while I pulled bullet fragments out of your ribs with a pair of kitchen tongs and washed your blood off my apron with cold tap water.
Do not pretend you can scare me with the reality of this world,
Nathan Brooks.
I know who you are,
I know what you do,
and if Garrett Parker is going to face judgment for trying to kill my children,
I want him to look into the eyes of the woman he thought was too weak to fight back.”
For five agonizing seconds,
neither of us moved,
our breaths mingling in the quiet room as the battle of wills hung suspended in the air.
Finally,
Nathan let out a low,
rough exhale,
the corners of his lips tightening into a grim,
lethal smirk.
“God help anyone who ever tries to harm those kids,”
he muttered under his breath,
before reaching for the internal intercom mounted beside the door.
“Marco.
Bring up two tactical vests,
a secure transport convoy,
and tell Dr.
Vance to double the security detail outside my mother’s bedroom door.
Mrs.
Brooks is coming with us.”
Ten minutes later,
the heavy blast door opened,
and we walked down the back service staircase to avoid alarming Noah and Lily,
who were engrossed in their movie under Clara’s watchful eye.
Before we reached the garage,
Nathan led me into the executive boardroom on the ground floor,
where Victor and Julian were still being detained under the watchful barrels of four armed guards.
The atmosphere in the room was thick with terror and humiliation.
The three elderly family lawyers who had overseen our marriage certification were hurriedly packing their leather briefcases at the far end of the mahogany table,
sweating through their pinstriped collars as they prepared to flee the estate before the real violence began.
Victor Brooks was slumped in an armchair,
his white linen suit disheveled,
his face an ugly shade of mottled gray as he stared at the signed corporate resolutions lying before him.
Beside him,
Julian was pacing like a caged hyena,
his hands shaking so violently he couldn’t light his cigarette.
“You can’t do this,
Nathan!”
Julian screamed the moment we walked through the double doors,
his voice cracking with hysteric fury.
“You can’t strip our voting shares without an emergency shareholder tribunal in Phoenix!
The bylaws of the logistics corporation require forty-eight hours’ notice!”
Nathan didn’t even look at Julian.
He walked straight to the head of the conference table,
pulled out the high-backed leather chair,
and rested his hands on the carved mahogany backrest.
“As of twelve-fifteen today,”
Nathan announced coldly,
his voice cutting through the room like a razor through silk,
“the board of trustees certified Emily Grace Brooks as the sole co-executor of the Brooks Family Holdings.
Under Section Nine of my father’s founding charter,
any trustee who attempts or facilitates the murder of an heir or an heir’s dependent forfeits all commercial shares,
all territorial rights,
and all security privileges within the state of Arizona.”
Victor’s head snapped up,
his eyes bloodshot and venomous.
“Heirs?”
Victor rasped,
pointing a trembling finger at me.
“Those two bastards aren’t Brooks blood!
They’re trailer trash fathered by a fugitive felon!”
Before Victor could finish the sentence,
Nathan picked up a heavy crystal decanter from the side bar and slammed it into the center of the mahogany table,
shattering the thick glass into a thousand glittering shards that rained down over Victor’s paperwork.
The sheer violence of the motion made Victor flinch backward,
knocking his chair over with a loud thump.
“Noah and Lily carry the Brooks name as of noon today,”
Nathan snarled,
leaning over the table until his face was inches from his uncle’s.
“And every bank account,
every warehouse lease,
and every dock shipping lane you owned in Nogales and Yuma now belongs entirely to my wife.
Marco has already frozen your offshore accounts in the Caymans,
and the state police have just received an anonymous parcel containing the complete tax fraud records and customs bribes Julian signed last winter.”
Julian’s knees gave out,
and he collapsed into an empty chair,
burying his face in his hands as a low,
pathetic sob escaped his throat.
“You’re sending us to federal prison,”
Julian whimpered.
“You’re handing your own blood to the feds!”
“I am giving you to the law,
Julian,
because that is the mercy my dying mother asked me to grant you,”
Nathan said,
straightening his posture and adjusting his cufflinks with chilling calm.
“If it were up to me,
you and your father would already be buried ten feet under the desert scrub beside the state line.
Consider five years in a federal penitentiary the greatest gift you will ever receive from this family.”
Nathan turned to the four armed guards stationed at the doors.
“Escort Victor and Julian to the basement holding cells until the federal marshals arrive at three o’clock,”
Nathan commanded.
“If either of them speaks,
breaks a rule,
or tries to step out of the holding area,
shoot them in the legs.”
“Yes,
Mr.
Brooks,”
the lead guard responded,
jerking Victor up by the collar of his suit while the other men dragged a crying Julian down the corridor.
As the heavy boardroom doors swung shut,
cutting off the desperate pleas of the fallen vultures,
Nathan turned to me,
his dark eyes studying my face.
“That was the easy part,
Emily,”
he said softly,
May you like
handing me a black Kevlar vest from the side credenza.
“Now we go hunt the man who tried to take your children.”
