My Arrogant Cousin Tried to Evict Me and Steal Our War Fleet — I Froze His Accounts in Four Minutes, But the Legal War That Followed Cost Me My Son
The weight of Marcus’s words settled over me, colder than the late-night air. Treason. Not just against me, but against the war effort itself.
“Are you certain of this, Marcus?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He nodded, his gaze unwavering. “The code was irrefutable. It came from an intercepted message meant for one of Arthur’s private contacts. A transfer of funds, an itinerary. It’s all here.”
He laid the folded paper on my desk. My hands trembled as I picked it up, the numbers and names blurring. Three troop transports. My family’s legacy. Diverted for frivolous, illegal gain.
I had refused to surrender the corporate seal, and now I understood why it was so critical. Without it, Arthur couldn’t finalize those charters. But the injunction still stood, locking me out.
The following day brought a deluge of legal assaults. Arthur, along with Victoria Albright, had wasted no time. They had set up a temporary office in a lavish suite at The Mayflower Hotel, using it as a command center.
My mailbox was crammed daily with a fresh wave of court summonses. Emergency petitions, freeze orders on my personal accounts, subpoenas demanding every scrap of financial record.
Each document was a paper missile, designed to overwhelm and intimidate. They were trying to bleed me dry through legal fees, to drown me in bureaucracy.
Marcus, despite his loyalty, was bound by the new injunctions. He could only advise me in hushed, furtive meetings, usually in a quiet corner of Lafayette Square as dusk settled over the city.
“They’re trying to prove you’re incapable of managing the fleet,” Marcus explained, pointing to a new petition. “They’re claiming ‘financial impropriety’ now, based on those personal account freezes.”
I clenched my jaw, the injustice burning. They used my personal assets as leverage, hoping to force my hand.
Then, a federal courier arrived, not with another subpoena, but with a thicker envelope, bearing the seal of the War Production Board. My heart leaped, a flicker of hope. Perhaps Colonel Henderson was intervening.
I tore it open. It wasn’t an intervention.
It was an emergency order from Judge Samuel Montgomery, not just reiterating the demand for the corporate seal, but adding a chilling new clause.
“Failure to comply within twenty-four hours,” it read, “will be deemed obstruction of wartime orders, punishable by immediate military arrest.”
My breath hitched. Military arrest. This wasn’t just about the ships anymore. This was about my freedom. Arthur was playing a dangerous game, using the war itself as his weapon.
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