Chapter 10: Annihilation

Chapter 10: Annihilation

The second mediation was held in the same soulless conference room. The beige walls were the same, the polished table reflected the same fluorescent lights, but the atmosphere had undergone a fundamental shift. The first time, the room had crackled with the static of Peter’s arrogance and Jax’s coiled patience. This time, the air was heavy, thick with the silence of an impending execution.

Jax and Gunner Kane took their seats first. They moved with an unhurried confidence that was more intimidating than any overt display of aggression. Jax, in a plain gray Henley, looked as if he were merely waiting for a coffee order, his calm a deep reservoir of power. Gunner arranged a single, slim file folder in front of him, a stark contrast to the mountain of paper their opposition had brought last time.

Peter, Karen, and their lawyer, Davies, entered looking frayed. The weeks of watching a state-of-the-art auto shop rise from the dirt across the street had taken their toll. Peter’s suit seemed to hang off his frame, his bravado replaced by a pallid exhaustion. Karen’s makeup was a brittle mask over her fury, her eyes darting nervously between Jax and Gunner. Only Davies looked truly terrified. He had sensed the shift in the tactical landscape after Gunner’s final document request, and he carried himself like a man walking through a minefield he knew he hadn't cleared.

Ms. Albright, the mediator, began with a weary plea for civility and common ground. "Mr. Davies," she said, her tone hopeful. "Given the time for reflection, do your clients have a revised offer to present?"

Davies swallowed hard, avoiding Gunner’s gaze. "My clients," he began, his voice strained, "in a final attempt to resolve this matter amicably, are prepared to increase their offer to seventy-five thousand dollars."

Karen added a spiteful whisper, just loud enough to carry. "Which is seventy-five thousand more than they deserve."

Gunner Kane let the pathetic offer hang in the air for a moment, then gave a slight shake of his head, not in rejection, but in something that looked almost like pity.

"We won't be needing to haggle today, Ms. Albright," Gunner said, his voice calm and clear. He opened his slim folder. "During the discovery process, new information has come to light. Information that fundamentally changes the nature of this dispute."

He looked directly at Peter, whose eyes widened in alarm.

"We requested the employment and tax records for all six of your LLCs, Mr. Sterling," Gunner continued smoothly. Davies looked like he was about to be physically ill. "You were reluctant to provide them. Now I understand why."

With methodical precision, Gunner laid six documents on the polished table. They were copies of the Form 941s, the quarterly tax returns. He slid the first one toward the center of the table.

"This is the filing for Sterling Automotive. It shows you employed my client, Mr. Ryder. As expected."

He then slid the second document next to it. "And this is the filing for Harmony Creek Quick Lube. For the exact same time period. It also claims Mr. Ryder as a full-time employee."

One by one, he laid out the other four, creating a damning mosaic of fraud. "And Sterling Classic Restorations. And P&K Holdings. And two other shell corporations. All of them, Mr. Sterling, claimed to the Internal Revenue Service that you were paying Jax Ryder a full-time wage."

He let the implication sink in, watching the blood drain from Peter’s face. Karen stared at the papers, her sharp mind for once unable to process what she was seeing, a dawning horror replacing her rage.

"Six companies. One man," Gunner stated, his voice dropping to a low, lethal tone. "A ghost employee five times over. And why? To claim the Work Opportunity Tax Credit. Specifically," he paused, his eyes locking onto Peter's, "the federal tax credit for hiring a qualified veteran."

The word "veteran" struck Peter Sterling like a physical blow. The phrase he had used to mock Jax, to humiliate him, to justify his petty probation—a helping hand for a struggling disabled veteran—was now the very foundation of a federal crime that would ruin him. The insult had become the indictment.

Davies finally found his voice, a weak, strangled croak. "This is—this is a misunderstanding. A clerical error—"

"A clerical error?" Gunner’s voice was laced with ice. "A clerical error that repeats itself across six separate corporate entities, every quarter, for a year? An error that just so happens to benefit you financially every single time? There is a name for a pattern of 'clerical errors' like this, Mr. Davies. It’s called tax fraud. It's a felony. And the IRS, as I'm sure you know, has a rather unforgiving view of such things."

He leaned back, the picture of deadly calm. "We're no longer talking about a civil suit for back wages. We're talking about a criminal conspiracy to defraud the United States Government. We're talking about asset forfeiture, financial penalties that will dwarf this lawsuit, and federal prison time."

The word prison hung in the room, sucking all the air out. The sterile conference room was no longer a place for negotiation; it was a cage, and Peter Sterling had just realized the door had been locked from the outside.

Karen’s face, for the first time, crumpled into pure, unadulterated fear. Her dreams of a lavish lifestyle, funded by Peter's small-town empire, evaporated in an instant, replaced by visions of auditors, courtrooms, and ruin.

Davies shot to his feet. "Ms. Albright, we require a moment to confer with our clients. In private."

"Of course," the mediator said, quickly agreeing.

As the door clicked shut, Jax and Gunner sat in silence. They didn't need to speak. They could hear the muffled sounds from the hallway—Karen's hysterical, whispered accusations, Peter’s panicked retorts, and Davies's frantic, desperate attempts to explain the utter devastation they faced.

Fifteen minutes later, the door opened. The three returned to the table, but they were different people. The fight was gone. The arrogance was gone. All that remained was the hollow shell of defeat. Peter Sterling looked like a man who had aged ten years in fifteen minutes.

Davies sat down heavily, his shoulders slumped. He looked at Gunner, a man pleading for his life. "What do you want?"

Gunner didn't answer. He simply took a single sheet of paper from his folder and slid it across the table. It was a list of demands. Non-negotiable.

Davies picked it up, his hand trembling. He read the terms aloud in a monotone whisper.

"Four hundred thousand dollars, to be paid to the fifteen plaintiffs for back wages and punitive damages... All legal fees incurred by the plaintiffs, to be paid in full... A separate, personal settlement for Mr. Ryder..." He trailed off, his eyes widening at the undisclosed figure listed on the paper he held. It was a number designed not just to compensate, but to punish. To cripple.

Peter made a choked, gasping sound. Karen stared blankly at the wall. The foundation of their world had crumbled to dust.

"We agree," Davies said, the words tasting like poison. "We agree to all of it. On one condition." He looked up, his eyes begging. "A non-disclosure agreement. A complete and total gag order. No one—not you, not your clients, no one—ever speaks of any part of this. The settlement, the amount, the allegations... none of it. It never happened."

It was the last desperate act of a dying king trying to save his crown, even as his kingdom burned. Peter was willing to pay any price, as long as the town of Harmony Creek never learned the truth. He thought he was buying silence, his last and most precious commodity.

Gunner looked at Jax. For the first time in the entire meeting, Jax moved. He gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"We accept your condition," Gunner said, his voice flat.

The relief that washed over Peter’s face was profound. He had survived. He would lose a fortune, but he would keep his name. He didn't see the final, elegant deadliness of the trap. He didn't understand that a civil gag order could never legally prevent an anonymous citizen from reporting a federal crime.

The agreement was signed. Peter’s signature was a spidery, panicked scrawl. Karen’s was tight and angry. Jax’s was calm, steady, and precise. It was the signature of a man who had not just won a battle, but had successfully orchestrated the complete and total annihilation of his enemy, all while letting them believe they had managed to save themselves.