Chapter 2 - The Sealed Envelope And The Stolen Aerospace Dynasty
Inside the secure briefing room of the base headquarters, Harrison Cole sat across the mahogany conference table from me, while two armed military intelligence guards secured the door.
Harrison opened a digital tablet, connecting it to the high-definition wall monitor.
“Claire, in 2008, your father invented the Hyper-Drive Quantum Guidance System—a revolutionary aerospace propulsion technology capable of neutralizing hypersonic missile threats,” Harrison explained, displaying original blueprints with my father’s unmistakable signature in the corner.
“If my father invented this,” I asked, my voice trembling, “why did we grow up in a cramped rental apartment in East Baltimore, eating canned soup while my mother wept over unpaid heating bills?”
Harrison’s eyes darkened into an icy storm.
“Because your father’s civilian business partner was Marcus Vance—the current CEO of Vance Defense Dynamics,” Harrison replied. “Two weeks before the patent was scheduled to be registered with the Department of Defense, Marcus Vance falsified corporate incorporation documents, had your father’s military clearance revoked on fabricated treason charges, and arranged the sabotaged brake lines on your father’s vehicle on Route 50.”
A suffocating wave of nausea and fury crashed over me.
The car crash. The rainy night twelve years ago when two state troopers knocked on our door to tell my mother that my father was dead at the bottom of a ravine.
“Marcus Vance stole the patents,” Harrison continued, his fists clenching on the table. “He used your father’s genius to build an eight-billion-dollar defense conglomerate. He bought politicians, bribed regional judges, and threatened your mother with CPS removal of you and Ethan if she ever spoke to a lawyer.”
“And my mother died thinking my father was a disgraced traitor...” I choked out, hot tears spilling over my lashes.
“Your father was a national hero, Claire,” Harrison said softly, reaching across the table and taking my trembling hands in his large, calloused palms. “And under the original military trust agreement that Marcus Vance tried to incinerate, seventy percent of all royalties generated by Vance Defense Dynamics belong to you and Ethan.”
“How much is that?” I whispered.
“Eight hundred and forty million dollars in liquid escrow,” Harrison stated with chilling precision. “Plus full majority voting control of the company.”
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Harrison stood up from the table, his presence commanding the entire room.
“Our first priority is not the money, Claire. Our first priority is Ethan. My private medical transport is on the runway at Andrews Air Force Base right now. We are moving your brother to the Presidential Medical Wing at Walter Reed within the hour.”
