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Crestmark. Westhaven. Granby. Fourteen cities in total, scattered across the country.
Some lay in the south, some in the north, some on the coast, some inland. But they shared a single common feature.
Every one of them was a vital strategic stronghold for Sterling Energy.
Ethan's intent was plain. He was going after Liam Rouse. You made your move. Don't blame me for answering in kind.
"Junior Brother. Do we really have to do this?" Yvette's concern surfaced. "If the two companies go to open war, a great many ordinary families end up unemployed. And New Future's reputation takes the damage."
Ethan nodded at the point.
"I'll raise that with Senior Brother Reyes separately. With the power supply problem solved, a number of industries are going to rise again. When they do, we make sure the displaced workers are properly resettled. No one gets left to fall through the cracks."
---
After leaving the building, Ethan dialed Nathan Graves directly. Once he had the location of the detained executive, he drove out to it.
Northridge Provincial Detention Center.
As a facility built to hold major suspects, its security was formidable, with nearly a hundred guards on the roster alone.
From the moment Daniel Brandt was arrested, he had understood that his life was over. But he had no regrets. Trading the remainder of his own life for his son's was, in his eyes, the best outcome available to him.
To make certain Rouse held up his end, Brandt had spent days of repeated interrogation insisting that he had done everything himself, that no one else was involved. Aaron Shaw and the others had named Rouse countless times, and it had changed nothing. Brandt had done it all. As long as he didn't talk, Rouse stayed untouched. The Republic ran on law and evidence. Without evidence, no one could convict Rouse of anything.
"Hey. Friend. What'd you do to land in here?"
Brandt was staring at nothing when someone in a neighboring cell asked the question, and the moment it was out, the inmates in the surrounding cells all perked up with interest.
Since this man had arrived, the special handling had not let up for a moment. He had a private cell. He was interrogated three times a day. Guards came every half hour to check on his wellbeing. And, most absurd of all, the head of the entire Republic's police, a man who turned up regularly on the evening broadcast, had personally come to question this unremarkable middle-aged man.
Just how large a crime had he committed?
Brandt ignored them. He shifted further back into his cell, as if distance could shake off their stares. It couldn't, and the speculation went on. Some guessed a bank robbery. Others a revenge killing.
While the debate ran hot, a few guards walked in. Seeing the noise, the lead guard struck the bars with his baton, a piercing clang.
"What is this, a town meeting?"
At the sight of the man in charge, the chatting prisoners scattered like startled birds.
"Number 0317. Brandt. Come with us. There are matters to discuss."
Looking at the two guards at his door, the former Sterling project manager was long since used to it. He stood and went with them without resistance.
Inside the interrogation room, taking in the familiar faces, Brandt felt a flicker of weary exasperation.
"Can we change the questions, gentlemen? Going over the same handful of lines on a loop. My ears are growing calluses."
The veteran prosecutors were, naturally, incensed at his posture.
"Fix your attitude. You're already here. Drop the act. Brandt, I'm advising you to confess and be done with it. Think about your wife. Your child. Your mother. Have you considered what their lives become because you're sitting in here for something like this?"
Listening to the unvarying script, Brandt yawned, the picture of boredom.
The complete indifference set veins bulging on the interrogators' foreheads. But there was nothing they could do. They were experienced at drawing out confessions. Family, freedom, loyalty, one of those levers usually moved a man. This case was different. This man had come here specifically to take the fall and face the law. The standard tactics had no purchase on him whatsoever. And modern practice ruled out the old methods of forcing a confession, so the case had ground to a complete halt.
"Thank you for your work, everyone. Let me take over from here."
Just as they were at the end of their rope, a strikingly young voice came through the intercom, filling the room.
As though on a prearranged signal, the group rose and filed out of the interrogation room together.
"Did they send another interrogation specialist?"
"Why does this one sound so young?"
"I'd save your breath, all of you," Brandt said. "I did everything. What is there to keep dragging out?"
A flicker of disdain rose in his chest as he spoke. Back when he ran Sterling's project division, he had negotiated with industry giants without ceding an inch. After his arrest, even the Minister of Public Security himself hadn't pried a thing loose from him. What chance did anyone else have?
The next second, the door opened.
A young man, barely twenty, stepped into view.
And it was this very young man who brought Brandt, whose composure had survived round after round of interrogation, abruptly to his feet.
"What's the matter? Is Manager Brandt surprised to see me?"
The newcomer didn't stand on ceremony. He dropped into the chair and propped his legs up on the edge of the table without the slightest regard for appearances. He did not look like a man here to conduct an interrogation. He looked like a man on a sightseeing trip.
The initial shock passing, Brandt settled back into his own chair. Seeing the way the other man so completely disregarded him, his face darkened.
"It seems President Mercer has come with a great deal of confidence."
The newcomer was, of course, Ethan.
"Now, Manager Brandt flatters me. I don't have much confidence at all. I just came in the spirit of giving it a try."
After the briefest pleasantries, Ethan abruptly switched the subject.
"By the way, Manager Brandt. Do you happen to know any particularly reliable fortune tellers?"
The nonsensical question clearly threw Brandt for a moment. Once he'd recovered, he answered.
"I know a few good ones. As you're aware, unlike New Future, Sterling clawed its way to where it is alone. Technology and capital are what matter most, certainly. But a bit of superstition is better believed than ignored."
The needle-in-cotton reply only deepened Ethan's appreciation. Truly the project head of the industry leader. His control over his own emotions was flawless, and he was already going for the provocation from the opening move.
The subtext was unmistakable. New Future only soared because the state carried it. Sterling reached its position one hard step at a time, on its own.