Chapter 6 - Midnight at the Judge’s EstateThe wrought-iron gates of Judge Harrison Hayes’ sprawling Winnetka estate swung open automatically as Roman’s convoy of black SUVs approached. They didn't bother waiting for an invitation; the vehicles rolled right up to the grand front steps of the neo-colonial mansion.
Harper stepped out into the crisp autumn air, wearing a sharp charcoal trench coat over her evening wear, her heels clicking sharply against the cobblestone driveway. Behind her stepped Roman Falco, flanked by two towering security operatives who looked like they could tear a steel door off its hinges with their bare hands.
Before they could reach the front door, it flew open.
Judge Harrison Hayes—a heavy-set man in his late sixties with silver hair and an expression of pompous entitlement—stepped out onto the porch, flanked by a nervous-looking Connor Hayes.
“What is the meaning of this trespassing?” Judge Hayes bellowed, pointing a thick finger at Roman. “Mr. Falco, you may think your money buys you immunity in this city, but breaking onto a federal judge’s property in the middle of the night is a federal offense! I’ll have you all arrested before—!”
“Shut up, Harrison,” Roman said casually, walking up the stone steps with slow, measured strides.
The judge sputtered, his face turning beet red. “How dare you—!”
“You signed an emergency injunction three hours ago based on forged affidavits and fabricated bank statements,” Roman continued, cutting the judge off entirely as he stopped two steps below him. “My compliance team reviewed your signature block before we left the city. You bypassed standard filing protocols, which means you didn't just abuse your judicial discretion—you left a paper trail straight to a federal bribery indictment.”
Connor stepped forward, his eyes wild with panic. “That’s a lie! My uncle has absolute judicial immunity—!”
“Judicial immunity protects a judge acting within his legal jurisdiction,” a cool, crisp voice interrupted from behind Roman.
Harper stepped out from the shadows of the porch pillars, holding a thick manila folder under her arm. She looked up at Connor and his uncle with a look of absolute, unadulterated contempt.
“It does not protect a judge who uses his bench to execute a personal vendetta for his nephew, nor does it cover financial kickbacks funneled through shell companies registered in the Cayman Islands,” Harper said, sliding a document out of the folder.
Judge Hayes’ face lost all its color. He stared at the paper in Harper’s hand as if it were a venomous snake.
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“Where did you get that?” the judge whispered hoarsely.
“Falco Holdings owns the telecommunications backbone that routes every encrypted financial transaction in downtown Chicago,” Roman answered smoothly, stepping up beside Harper and resting a hand on the small of her back. “Judge... you really should check who owns the servers your family uses for your offshore accounts before you decide to freeze an innocent woman’s bank account.”
