Chapter 6: The Service of a Lawsuit

Chapter 6: The Service of a Lawsuit

Six months. One hundred and eighty-three days of quiet compliance. The black notebook was full, its pages crammed with dates, times, and transgressions. The seasons had turned. The brutal summer heat had given way to the crisp chill of late autumn, and the leaves on the trees outside the bay doors had turned to fiery shades of red and gold before finally falling. Inside Sterling Automotive, however, nothing had changed. The atmosphere remained frozen in a state of tense, toxic stasis.

Jax arrived each day, punched the clock, and performed his duties with the flawless precision of a machine. He was the perfect employee on paper and the perfect nightmare in Karen Sterling’s mind. His silent, unwavering obedience was a mirror she could not bear to look into, reflecting only her own shrill futility. Peter had long since retreated into a state of willful ignorance, pointing to the productivity of his star mechanic as proof that his "probation" plan had been a stroke of genius. He saw the numbers on the balance sheet, not the poison seeping into the foundations of his business.

The other mechanics, led by the veteran Earl and the now-less-nervous apprentice, Tim, had formed a silent phalanx around Jax. They had learned from his example. They documented their own hours. They whispered encouragement when Karen was out of earshot. They knew something was coming. They didn't know what, but they could feel the pressure building, the low-pressure system of Jax’s patience giving way to a gathering storm.

The storm broke on a Tuesday afternoon, during the busiest part of the day. The shop was humming with activity. Cars were on every lift, customers milled in the waiting area, and the phone in the office was ringing off the hook.

A man walked in through the main office door. He wasn't a customer; he wore no grease-stained work clothes, nor did he look lost and in need of a repair. He wore a simple, non-descript gray polo shirt, dark slacks, and sensible shoes. He had the blandly professional air of an auditor or a mid-level government employee, and he carried a thick manila envelope.

Sue Miller, behind her cluttered desk, looked up and asked if she could help him.

"I'm here to see Peter Sterling," the man said, his voice polite but firm.

Peter, who was schmoozing a wealthy customer about the virtues of a vintage Mustang in the showroom, strode into the office, his chest puffed out. "I'm Peter Sterling. Can I help you?"

"I certainly hope so," the man said, his eyes scanning the room, noting the customers and the half-dozen employees within earshot. He held out the envelope. "Mr. Sterling, you've been served."

The words dropped into the bustling shop like a stone into a silent pond. The whine of an impact wrench cut off abruptly. Conversations stopped. Every eye in the place—mechanic, customer, and bookkeeper—swiveled towards Peter.

Peter’s jovial mask flickered. He stared at the envelope as if it were a live snake. "Served? What is this? Some kind of joke?"

"It's no joke, sir," the process server said, his voice carrying clearly through the sudden silence. "This is a summons and complaint filed in Harmony Creek District Court. You are named as the primary defendant, along with Karen Sterling and Sterling Automotive, LLC."

Karen, who had been hovering near the showroom entrance, now stormed into the office. "What is this nonsense? Who is suing us?" she demanded, snatching the envelope from Peter’s limp hand.

She tore it open, her eyes blazing as she scanned the first page. The color drained from her face, replaced by a blotchy, furious red. "Ryder," she hissed, the name coming out like a curse. "It's him. That ungrateful son of a bitch."

Peter grabbed the papers, his hands trembling slightly as he read. He saw not just Jax’s name, but fourteen others. Earl. Tim. Every single mechanic and shop hand who worked for him. The charges were laid out in stark, brutal language by a lawyer whose name—Marcus ‘Gunner’ Kane—sounded less like an attorney and more like a weapon. Wage theft, calculated over six months for every employee. Breach of contract. Creation of a hostile work environment. And there, on page three, was the centerpiece, the charge that made Peter’s blood run cold. Discrimination and targeted harassment based on status as a military veteran.

It quoted him verbatim. The memory of his own voice echoed in his head, dripping with false pity. “…a helping hand for a struggling disabled veteran.”

It was all there. A six-month campaign of petty tyranny and illegal exploitation, meticulously documented and weaponized.

Karen saw only one thing: betrayal. The quiet man she had tried so hard to break had been fighting back in secret the entire time. The humiliation was absolute, delivered on her stage, in front of her audience of customers and subjugated employees. The last vestiges of her control shattered.

She spun around, her wild eyes landing on Jax, who had stopped his work on a brake job and was watching the scene unfold from his bay, his face a calm, unreadable mask.

"YOU!" she shrieked, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger. The sound was so raw, so filled with hate, that even the customers flinched. "You are finished! You are FIRED! Get your things and get out of my shop! NOW!"

The declaration hung in the air, a fatal, irrevocable mistake.

Peter, panicked and completely under his wife's hysterical influence, saw Jax’s calm gaze and felt a surge of desperate anger. His empire was being threatened by a man he saw as nothing more than a grease monkey. He found his voice, echoing his wife’s fury.

"You hear her?" he shouted, his voice cracking. "You're fired, Jax! Fired! You'll never work in this town again!"

The process server, who had remained perfectly still throughout the tirade, cleared his throat. It was a small, quiet sound, but it cut through the rage like a razor.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling," he said with chilling politeness.

He reached up and tapped a small, pen-like device clipped to the placket of his polo shirt. A tiny, previously invisible red light went dark.

"For the record," the server continued, his voice projecting clearly for all to hear, "I am legally required to inform you that this entire interaction, starting from the moment I identified myself, has been recorded as part of my official duties."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

"That recording includes your explicit termination of Mr. Ryder, moments after being served with a lawsuit, in front of multiple witnesses. My client's attorney, Mr. Kane, sends his thanks. He'll be filing an amended complaint in the morning to include a charge for wrongful termination and illegal retaliation."

The world inside Sterling Automotive seemed to tilt on its axis. Peter Sterling stared at the process server, his mouth hanging open, the furious words he’d shouted just moments before now turning to ash in his throat. Karen was frozen, her face a mask of disbelief and horror. They had been baited, and they had lunged at the hook with everything they had.

Jax didn’t smile. He didn’t smirk. His expression did not change. He slowly, deliberately, placed the wrench he was holding onto his workbench. He picked up a clean rag and wiped his hands, his movements calm and methodical. He looked at Peter, then at Karen, holding their horrified gazes for a long, silent moment.

He had walked out of this shop once before, an act they had mistaken for defeat. Now, he turned and walked toward the door again. The other mechanics watched him go, their faces a mixture of terror and awe. From her desk, Sue Miller discreetly pushed her glasses up her nose, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touching the corner of her lips.

This time, when Jax Ryder walked out into the sunlight, he wasn't a soldier preparing for war. He was a general leaving a battlefield where the first, decisive victory had just been won.