Chapter 5 - THE MANILA FOLDERSabrina stared down at the manila folder resting on the concrete step. For a brief moment, her defiant smirk wavered, replaced by a twitch at the corner of her mouth.
"What is this nonsense?" she muttered, taking two cautious steps down the stairs, her flashlight beam trembling slightly. "Some junk mail from your trucking union?"
"Open it," I commanded, my voice carrying a quiet authority that made her freeze.
With a nervous flick of her wrist, Sabrina crouched down, untied the cotton string of the folder, and pulled out the top document.
Her eyes scanned the first page. Then the second.
Color drained from her face so fast she looked like a ghost. Her lips parted, but no sound came out—just a dry, hitching gasp of air.
"No..." she whispered, shaking her head frantically. "No, this... this is impossible. This is a fake. A forgery!"
"Check the seal, Sabrina," I said, stepping closer into the light. "Check the corporate registration number. That’s the original charter of Heartland Freight Systems, established thirty-five years ago. Signed by the sole founder and majority shareholder."
At the bottom of the page, in bold, undeniable print, read the name: Abraham Yates.
"You..." Sabrina choked out, her hands shaking so violently the papers fluttered to the concrete. "You’re not just a truck driver... You’re the Chairman? You own the entire enterprise?!"
"Every truck, every warehouse, every single dollar in the accounts you and your father were trying to steal," I replied coldly. "Wyatt doesn't own Heartland Freight. He is just the CEO of operations. I own the board. I own the equity. And as of five minutes ago, I own every single asset you thought you were going to inherit over my son's dead body."
Upstairs, heavy footsteps approached the basement door. Irving’s voice boomed down:
"Sabrina? What’s taking so long? Why are you screaming down there?"
Before Sabrina could answer, Irving pushed past the door and marched down the steps, pushing his daughter aside. He looked at me, then down at the manila folder on the floor, and finally toward the dark corner where Wyatt lay on the cot.
May you like
Irving’s face turned purple. But unlike his daughter, Irving didn't panic. A dark, ugly smile spread across his face.
"Well, well," Irving chuckled darkly, cracking his knuckles. "Look who decided to show up for the slaughter. Two birds, one stone."
