Chapter 10 - The Injunction
Harold Vance stopped ten feet from the burner, his face trembling with barely contained rage. ""Inspector,"" Vance barked, gesturing furiously toward the woman on the sidewalk. ""Issue the citation. Immediate seizure under emergency public safety codes. Have the police arrest them.""
The city inspector stepped forward, trembling slightly under the gaze of Michael and Julian. But before he could open his mouth, Michael held up a leather portfolio of his own.
""Go ahead, Inspector Ross,"" Michael said, his voice cold as a blade. ""Read the emergency declaration aloud. And while you're at it, explain to the state district attorney why your personal offshore account in the Cayman Islands received a wire transfer of four hundred thousand dollars yesterday afternoon from an account controlled by Vance Capital's subsidiary.""
The inspector turned pale, the paperwork in his hands shaking so violently that several pages slipped onto the damp pavement. ""I... I don't know what you're talking about.""
""You do,"" Julian stated smoothly, tapping his tablet screen and turning it toward Vance. ""At three this morning, we secured a federal injunction from Judge Alvarez of the Seventh Circuit. She reviewed the original 1978 Merchant Charter, Hector Flores' title registry, and the full financial audit of the municipal zoning committee. The entire Sector Four redevelopment project has been placed under federal receivership for fraud and attempted illegal seizure.""
Vance’s fists clenched at his sides. He glared at Michael, the predatory composure cracking completely. ""Do you think a corrupt district judge can stop a five-hundred-million-dollar project, Sterling? I have senators on my board. I have the mayor's personal cell phone.""
""Call him,"" Michael said simply, checking his watch. ""It's 5:58 AM. In two minutes, the charter is legally active for another forty years. And you are standing on Mrs. Flores' private property without an invitation.""
A heavy crowd had begun to gather at the barricades. Residents from the nearby tenements, awakened by the sirens and the confrontation, pushed past the yellow tape. Factory workers, delivery drivers, and elderly neighbors who had eaten Maria’s food for decades filled the sidewalk, surrounding the corner in an impenetrable wall of human bodies.
""Let her cook!"" a voice shouted from the crowd.
""Leave Maria alone!"" another woman yelled.
Vance looked around at the growing throng of working-class people, their eyes hard, their phone cameras flashing in the gray morning light. He looked at Michael, whose jaw was set like granite, and then at Maria, who calmly poured a bag of golden cornmeal into the boiling water, the sweet, warm smell of fresh atole rising into the freezing air.
The church bell two blocks away chimed six slow, resonant rings.
Vance turned on his heel, his face pale with humiliation. ""This isn't over, Sterling,"" he snarled before getting back into his car and slamming the door.
The crowd erupted into cheers. Maria closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath as Martha embraced her from behind, tears soaking into Maria's apron.
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""We did it,"" Martha wept. ""We saved your home.""
Julian stepped closer, his face solemn. ""We saved the corner, Mrs. Flores. But Vance is right about one thing. He won't stop with lawyers. We have to secure the surrounding property before nightfall.""
