“The pipe fitter whose boots you mocked... the thirteen-year-old boy you kicked on the canvas... is the sole registered fee-simple owner of Conduit Ten, the master sovereign creditor of your entire eighteen-billion-dollar conspiracy, and the Director of Sovereign Continuity for the United States Armed Forces!”
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“And under Section Nine of the Rivers and Harbors Act of Eighteen-Ninety-Nine: no commercial lease, no private equity conveyance, and no Swiss defense transfer can be executed without the wet-ink consent of the registered fee-simple owner.”
Arthur Sterling-Vance collapsed onto his knees on the wet concrete, his vicuña greatcoat soaking in the slurry and chemical runoff, his hands clawing at his chest as he wept ragged, hysterical tears of pure, un-calibrated ruin:
“David... please! Look at me! I was the Chief Justice of the Seventh Circuit! You cannot put a former federal jurist in Leavenworth chains on a gravel bluff!”
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I walked to where Arthur Vance and Blake Haron lay groveling on the stones.
