PART 2: THE BLACK VANS
I sidestepped his clumsy swing effortlessly.
Eighteen months of hand-to-hand combat training made my father look like he was moving in slow motion.
I grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him face-first onto the dining table. The expensive china rattled.
“Daniel! You are assaulting your father!” Evelyn screamed, pulling at my jacket.
“No,” I whispered in Richard’s ear, pressing his face into the wood. “I’m securing a hostile entity.”
I let him go. He collapsed into a chair, gasping for air, clutching his shoulder.
“You think you’ve won?” Richard wheezed, glaring at me with pure venom. “You think a few frozen bank accounts will stop me? I built this town, boy. I own the local police. I own the judges. By tomorrow morning, I’ll have you arrested for treason and domestic abuse.”
“You won't have time,” I said, checking my tactical watch. “The local police aren't coming.”
Right on cue, heavy headlights cut through the blizzard outside.
Bright, blinding high-beams flooded the living room windows.
The sound of heavy engines idling rattled the glass.
Evelyn peered through the curtains, her voice trembling. “Richard… there are black vans outside. Men in tactical gear. They have federal insignias.”
Richard frowned, trying to regain his composure. “Federal? For what? Tax evasion? My lawyers can tie that up in court for a decade.”
“It’s not the IRS, Dad,” I said, opening the front door.
The freezing wind howled into the house, bringing a flurry of snow with it.
Four men in heavy body armor, carrying assault rifles and wearing federal jackets, marched into the foyer.
Leading them was an officer in a military dress uniform—Colonel Vance, my commanding officer from the Army Criminal Investigation Division (CID).
“Staff Sergeant Sterling,” Colonel Vance said, giving me a brief nod. “Is the suspect secured?”
“He is, sir,” I replied, pointing at my father.
Richard stood up, his aristocratic arrogance flaring up one last time. “What is the meaning of this? You have no jurisdiction in my home!”
Colonel Vance walked up to him, pulling a heavy folder from his briefcase.
May you like
“Richard Sterling, you are under arrest by the United States government for international arms trafficking, corporate espionage, and financing sanctioned foreign militias.”
Richard’s jaw dropped. The whiskey glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the floor.
