Chapter 9 - The Anatomy of PowerThe silence that followed stretched until the sound of the ticking grandfather clock in the corner sounded like hammer blows against wood. Hector did not glance at the flash drive. He stared directly into David’s eyes, searching for a tremor of hesitation, a blink of youthful fear.
He found none. David was no longer the frightened nineteen-year-old fleeing into the night; he was a husband and a father standing in defense of his home.
"You think the federal courts scare me?" Hector sneered softly, though the edge had left his tone. "I have survived three grand juries, David."
"You survived them when you had men willing to go to prison for you," David said evenly. "Now you’re an old man paying hired security guards twenty dollars an hour. If the DA opens these accounts, your funds freeze by noon tomorrow. Your guards will walk off this property before sunset."
Sarah adjusted the blanket over Maya. The baby let out a tiny, soft sigh, utterly peaceful amidst the venom of the room. Sarah looked Hector directly in the eyes.
"You think the mark on her back is a sign of your dominance," Sarah said, her voice rich with an unexpected, searing compassion. "It isn’t. It’s an ordinary mark of human skin, passed through mothers who suffered under men like you. You wanted her here because you wanted to prove you could own one last thing. But you cannot own love, Hector. You never could."
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Hector looked down at his desk. The room seemed suddenly colder, the imposing shadows of the bookshelves shrinking back into ordinary wood and dusty paper. The tyrant was, at his core, merely an architect of his own isolation.
"Show me," Hector muttered, his voice dropping low, stripped of its theatrical venom. "Let me see the child."
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