Chapter Four; Courtroom Massacre
Michael Krux POV The chains felt heavier today.They marched me up the courthouse steps at 7:00 a.m. sharp. Hundreds of protesters on both sides of the barricades: some waving American flags and screaming “Traitor!”. Others held printed photos of the burning Phoenix with my face photoshopped onto the flames. They went as far as throwing plastic bottles and eggs off the riot shields around me. One hit my shoulder and burst, cold yolk sliding down the orange jumpsuit.I didn’t even flinch.Inside, the air was colder than the street. I was taken to the same courtroom with the same smell of wax and panic, but today the gallery was standing-room only. Every seat was taken by reporters, politicians, and people who just wanted to watch a billionaire bleed. I was already at the defendant's table when my “family” arrived.Reginald led the parade again, black suit darker than yesterday, face harder. Cecilia wore a black veil like a mafia widow. Damien had upgraded to a three-piece and was live-streaming on two phones at once. Gabriel and Layla came last. She wore charcoal today instead of white, hair in a tight bun, no sunglasses. Her hand rested in the crook of Gabriel’s elbow the entire walk down the aisle.They sat in the same front row. The prosecutor, Harlan Crowe, stood the second the judge entered. “Your Honor, the United Atlantic States requests the maximum sentence: life without parole. The defendant attempted to assassinate the President on live television in front of one hundred million viewers and he has shown zero remorse.” Harlen said. My lawyer, some overworked public defender who looked twenty-five and terrified, stood up and spoke. “Your Honor, my client maintains his innocence, we request bail and a full investigation into the planted evidence…” The judge cut him off with one raised hand.“Denied. I’ve read the overnight filings. The evidence is overwhelming. Mr. Krux, you may speak before sentencing.” Every camera zoomed to where I stood.The chains clinked loud enough for the microphones to catch. I looked straight at the front row, first at Layla, my heart shattered a million times when I saw how her fingers were tightly laced so with Gabriel’s that the knuckles were white. I let the silence stretch until the whole room leaned forward before I finally spoke. It was not okay that I was being framed, or that my family didn’t support me, but they were already moving on as if I am dead already. That realization cuts the heart deeper than a chainsaw would. I spoke, calm and clear, every word slow. “Five days ago I was the man who was going to give this country energy forever. Tonight I’m the man you all decided to burn alive. Fine. Go ahead and burn me. But remember this moment, the way you smiled while you did it. Because I will.” I said, very aware that the people I speak to are listening to me and understand fully what I was saying. A murmur rippled through the gallery, I lifted my head and looked around to see that Gabriel actually laughed and had a smug look. Layla on the other hand looked down at her shoes as if inpatient for me to conclude so she could go and have a spa day to release some body tension as she would always say when collecting money for it. I remember keeping five thousand dollars monthly just for those sections alone, thinking about it, I wonder if those sections would increase, decrease or go away entirely. Well whatever it is. It’s not something I should worry about at the moment, because I still didn’t know what happened, what changed or what went wrong. A few days ago if someone predicted this, I would chase the person away because of the love between my family and I. I can still remember the white joggers she got me to match with her when we go out to play golf on the weekend. Who knew life would have a drastic turn like this? Reginald stared straight ahead like I was speaking a foreign language, but I kept going. “I rebuilt Krux Enterprises from a garage with a second-hand laptop. I took a three-hundred-year-old family name and made it the most powerful company on Earth. And the second the fire started, every one of you ran for the cameras to stab me while I was still warm.”I turned to the judge. “I don’t want a trial. I don’t want bail. I don’t want mercy. Just give me the five years you’ve already decided on. I’ll use them wisely.” I said with determination and finality in my voice. There’s no point pleading to be out now just to be with those who had betrayed me. The prosecutor jumped up.“Your Honor, the defendant is mocking the court!” He said causing an uproar in the court. The judge banged the gavel once. “Silence.” He said. looked at me for a long time then he spoke, “Mr. Krux, you understand that life without parole is on the table.”I smiled. “I understand.” He leaned forward. “Then, in light of the President’s personal request for leniency, this court sentences you to five years in Iron Glacier Penitentiary with maximum security and hard labor. No parole. No appeals. The court is adjourned.” He gave the verdict. The gavel slammed like a gunshot.The gallery erupted. Reporters shouted more questions and concerns. My family stood and turned their backs on me in perfect unison. Gabriel put his arm around Layla’s shoulders and guided her out and she let him. As the marshals pulled me toward the side door, I caught one last look at Reginald. He was already shaking hands with the prosecutor, smiling like he’d just closed a merger. Damien leaned over the rail and spoke loud enough for my microphone to catch it.“Enjoy the ice, cousin. Don’t drop the soap.” I stopped walking, but the marshals yanked the chains, nonetheless, I didn’t move, I looked Damien dead in the eyes. “Tell your father the company jet is going to look real nice with my name back on the tail. See you in five years, little prince.” His smirk died. The marshals dragged me through the door, down the hallway, past the holding cell and straight to a waiting black helicopter with no markings. Two men in arctic gear waited inside. One of them held up a hood and said, “Time to go north, Krux. Iron Glacier doesn’t make gentle arrivals.” Pushed me and they pulled the hood over my head. The last thing I heard was a reporter’s voice echoing down the corridor: Breaking news: ‘Michael Krux sentenced to five years in the most dangerous prison on Earth. His wife and family have already left the courthouse without comment.’ The helicopter lifted off, the wind screamed, Ice waited below and in the darkness, with the chains cutting into my wrists and the engine roaring like an animal, I made the second promise. Five years, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-six days. I would count every single one. And when the last second ticked down, I would walk out of that ice carrying every name that smiled today. They could keep the empire, but I was coming back for the ashes.Latest Chapter
182; The Name
Chapter 182; The Name Monday morning. The city in its weekday register. The specific purposeful energy of a place that had things to do and was doing them. Michael walked to the foundation. Thirty-five minutes. The route he knew now the way he knew the apartment’s sounds and Layla’s running schedule and the river’s moods. He walked and thought. Not about the day’s agenda. About the day itself. The quality of it. A Monday in July with the sun already warm at eight fifteen and the city at full weekday capacity and the particular feeling of a morning that was ordinary in the best sense. Ordinary because it was his. Because he had built it. Because he woke up in it every day in an apartment with morning light and a painting on the wall and a woman who had chosen him and a foundation two streets away doing work that mattered. He walked. The city around him. He passed the coffee place. The woman behind the counter saw him through the glass and raised a ha
181; Untouchable
Chapter 181; UntouchableThe city woke before Michael did.That was unusual.He had spent most of his adult life being the first thing awake in any building he occupied, the habit of a man who had learned, in a place where sleep was interrupted by noise and light and the particular unpredictability of other people’s emergencies, to take the early hours as the only reliable privacy available.But this was a Saturday in July.And the apartment was warm.And Layla was beside him.And for the first time in a very long time, Michael Krux had nothing that needed doing before the world started.He woke at seven.Which was late for him.He lay still for a moment.The morning light was already in the room.Six forty-three, it came. Every morning. He knew this the way he knew the river’s moods and the foundation’s rhythms and the specific sound of Layla’s running shoes on the stairs when she came back from her morning run.He knew it because he had been present for it.Every morning.Since May.
180; What Ordinary Looks Like
Chapter 180; What Ordinary Looks LikeHair damp.Coffee accepted.Sitting at the kitchen table with her phone scanning the morning’s news the way she did, not for work specifically, just the general habit of knowing what the world was doing.“Josephine called last night,” she said, without looking up.“About what,” he said.“The second authority,” she said. “They want to meet. July.” She looked up. “That’s faster than I expected.”“Word travels,” he said.“The pilot results from the first authority aren’t even in yet,” she said.“They don’t need to be,” he said. “The framework is credible. The people running it are credible.” He looked at her. “You’re credible.”She looked at him.“That was almost a compliment,” she said.“It was a statement of fact,” he said.“Those are your compliments,” she said. “Facts delivered with conviction.”He almost smiled.She went back to her phone.He sat across from her.The kitchen table.The Tuesday morning.The ordinary extraordinary fact of it.He
179; Sunday Morning
Chapter 179; Sunday MorningShe moved toward the bedroom then she Stopped.Her eyes wondered as she Looked back at the painting.At Elena.For a while she kept staring until she finally stopped. “Goodnight,” she said.Quietly.To the painting.To the person in it.To twenty years of running and protecting and building toward exactly this.Michael looked at the painting.Then: “Goodnight,” he said.They went to bed.The apartment settling around them.The new space making the sounds new spaces made.The painting on the wall in the other room.The east-facing windows.The morning that was coming.The light arrived at six forty-three.Michael was already awake.He had woken at six-thirty the way he woke in new spaces, the particular alertness of an unfamiliar room being catalogued by a mind that had learned not to be caught unaware.Then he remembered where he was.And relaxed.He lay still for a moment.Then he heard Layla wake beside him.The specific quality of her waking, which he h
178 ; Moving Day
Chapter 178 ; Moving DayThey moved in on a Saturday in May.Not the romantic version of moving.The actual version.Boxes.The specific weight of accumulated lives in cardboard.The discovery that two people who both owned bookcases owned more books than one apartment had sensible wall space for.The question of whose coffee table, answered by Layla pointing at Michael’s and saying that one looks like it belongs in a waiting room, which was accurate.The question of whose couch, answered by a brief comparative assessment that concluded both were fine and one needed to go into the second room which was going to become the working room where the foundation plans spread out and the research lived.The question of kitchen equipment, answered by Layla, who had opinions about kitchen equipment that turned out to be both specific and correct, meaning Michael’s adequate collection was supplemented by her considerably better one.These decisions were made without drama.The way practical thin
177; What Elena Chose
Chapter 177; What Elena ChoseJonathan lived in a flat in the older part of the city.Not the part that appeared in profiles of powerful people.The part that had been there long enough to stop trying to prove anything, the streets worn smooth and the buildings settled into their foundations, the whole neighborhood carrying the particular confidence of somewhere that knew what it was.Michael had been here twice before.Both times briefly.Both times for reasons that were about logistics rather than the visit itself.This time was different.This time Layla was with him.And this time they were coming for something Jonathan had been keeping since the lighthouse.He opened the door before they knocked.Which meant he’d been listening for them.Which meant it mattered to him.He stood in the doorway looking at them with the expression he’d been developing over the months of knowing them — not the careful, managed expression of a man controlling a situation, but the simpler expression o
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