Chapter 8 - The Warehouse Tribunal
By 4:00 AM, the rain had returned to Irving, Texas, beating a heavy, rhythmic tattoo against the corrugated steel roof of the Robles family’s primary distribution warehouse. The space was vast, filled with towering rows of empty wooden pallets and the dark, silent shapes of impounded commercial trucks.
In the center of the concrete floor, beneath a single, high-intensity halogen construction lamp, Carmen and Javier Robles sat on two metal folding chairs. Their hands were zip-tied behind their backs, their faces covered in sweat and grease from the wet air of the terminal.
Alexander Arden stood ten feet away, his hands resting on the hood of his black Escalade, his gray eyes watching them through the yellow light of the lamp. Behind him stood Marcus, holding a portable satellite terminal that was currently linked to the federal district court in Fort Worth.
"The two men you hired from the fuel docks are currently being processed at the county jail, Carmen," Alexander said, his voice echoing off the high steel walls of the empty warehouse. "They didn't even wait for the first round of questioning before they gave the federal agents the coordinates for your silver bullion cellar."
Carmen looked up, her lips dry and cracked, her old mink coat completely gone, her face looking old and hollow under the harsh yellow light. "You can't keep us here, Alexander. This is kidnapping. This is a civil rights violation. We are citizens—"
"You are federal detainees under an emergency national-security warrant for corporate sabotage and interstate human trafficking," Marcus corrected her, not looking up from his screen. "At 3:30 AM, the Governor signed an executive order transferring your case to the federal jurisdiction based on the illegal fuel manifests we recovered from your trucks. You aren't going to a state court, Carmen. You're going to a maximum-security facility in New Mexico where there are no family court magistrates."
Javier began to sob, his shoulders shaking violently as he looked at his father’s old desk across the room. "Mr. Arden... please. I didn't know she was going to hire those men. I told her to stop. I told her we should just take the bankruptcy—"
"You stood outside the door while your mother beat my daughter with a gold chain, Javier," Alexander said. He walked over to the young attorney, leaning down until his face was only inches from the younger man’s. The scent of expensive cedar wood and cold rain from Alexander’s coat flooded Javier’s senses, making him choke on his own breath.
"You told her not to hit Sofia too much in the face because people would notice," Alexander whispered. "You were worried about the pictures. You were worried about the linen suit you were going to wear to the brunch."
He reached out and pulled a long, heavy gold chain from his pocket—the exact same square-link chain the forensic team had recovered from the Ritz-Carlton suite. He dropped it onto Javier’s lap. The metal made a sharp, heavy clink against his trousers.
"The federal marshals will be here in five minutes to take you into custody," Alexander said, standing up and turning his back to them. "I’m not going to touch you, Javier. I don't need to. In the facility you're going to, a young attorney who over-billed the city housing contracts and beat his bride for a condo doesn't last a month before his cellmate finds a use for his luxury car."
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"Alexander!" Carmen screamed as the heavy steel doors at the front of the warehouse began to slide open, the red and blue emergency lights of six federal vehicles casting a long, rhythmic flash across the concrete floor. "Alexander, please! Leave my son out of it! It was my idea! The condo was my idea!"
Alexander didn't look back as he climbed into the rear seat of his Escalade. "Marcus, give the files to the lead marshal. I want the paperwork completed before my daughter wakes up for breakfast."
