Chapter 3: The First Strike
The next morning, the sun rose over the Prescott estate in Charlotte, painting their manicured lawns and massive stone fountains in a golden hue.
Margaret Prescott sat at her glass dining table, delicately slicing a piece of melon. Ethan and Brandon were drinking espresso, scanning the morning financial news on their tablets.
"Did you hear from the military woman?" Brandon asked casually, not looking up from his screen.
"No," Margaret replied, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. "And we won't. I had our PR team draft a statement just in case. 'Emily Prescott is currently seeking private treatment for severe mental exhaustion and paranoia.' It paints us as the supportive, tragic family. If the Colonel tries to squawk to the media, she’ll look like the enabler of a hysterical woman."
Ethan chuckled. "You worry too much, Mother. The woman drives a ten-year-old Honda and wears a uniform for a living. She has no capital. She has no leverage."
Suddenly, Brandon’s tablet chirped violently. A priority alert.
He frowned, tapping the screen. The color rapidly drained from his face.
"Brandon? What is it?" Margaret asked sharply.
"The... the Apex deal," Brandon stammered. "It's gone."
Ethan stood up. "What do you mean it's gone? We're signing the fifty-million-dollar acquisition papers on Friday. The commercial zoning was approved!"
"The zoning was revoked this morning," Brandon said, his voice rising in panic. "And the federal inspectors just slapped a Class-A environmental hold on the property. Someone tipped off the EPA about the chemical runoff from the old factory on the site. A federal judge signed an injunction at 6:00 AM freezing all development."
Margaret dropped her silver fork. It clattered loudly against the china plate. "Who?"
"I don't know!" Brandon yelled, typing frantically. "The tip came from an anonymous source, but the EPA action was expedited by the Department of Defense. They cited 'national security concerns' regarding the chemical proximity to a federal waterway."
Margaret’s eyes widened. Department of Defense.
"Call the Mayor," she barked at Ethan. "Call him right now!"
Ethan pulled out his phone, his hands shaking slightly. He dialed the private number of the Mayor of Charlotte, a man the Prescotts had practically bought and paid for during the last election.
It went straight to voicemail.
Three hundred miles away, sitting in the mountain cabin, I watched a green light blink on my encrypted laptop.
"Target one paralyzed," Miller's voice crackled over the headset. "The Apex deal is dead in the water, Colonel. I had a buddy at the Pentagon flag the site. It’ll take them ten years of litigation just to clear the red tape."
"Good work, Miller," I replied. "Let them bleed a little. They need to understand that their money can't stop what's coming."
"What's the next objective, Boss?"
May you like
I looked over at Emily, who was sleeping peacefully on the sofa, breathing easily for the first time in months.
"Now," I said, a grim smile touching my lips. "We let Ethan panic. When men like him lose control, they make mistakes. Let's see what he does when he realizes he's no longer the predator."
