“Where is the executed invalidation certificate?”
“Your grand-niece Evelyn Harrow-Vance, your private security coordinators, and your corporate attorneys are in federal transport chains at the holding facility in Miramar, Chief Justice,” I answered softly.
My voice had no microphone.
Yet it filled that twenty-foot concrete vault with forty decibels of pure, unyielding, polar diamond:
“The classroom ambush in Oceanside was terminated four hours ago.”
“The communications logs have been decrypted by naval intelligence.”
“The sixty billion dollars in diverted defense reserves was frozen in Zurich.”
“The red pen your grand-niece used to deface my daughter’s work has been logged as capital felony evidence under Title Eighteen.”
“And I came to Washington to return your family’s conveyance petition.”
CHAPTER 10: THE AUDIT ON THE BLACK GRANITE
I walked down the twenty-foot center aisle of the West Conference Room.
My leather boots left dark, geometric tread marks across the greenstone floorboards:
