Chapter 9: The Taxman's Apache

Chapter 9: The Taxman's Apache

The weeks following the disastrous mediation settled into a new kind of warfare, one fought not with wrenches and words but with paper and process. While Jax oversaw the rapid, exhilarating rise of his new shop across the street—its steel skeleton a daily torment to Peter Sterling—Gunner Kane was deep in the trenches of legal discovery. It was his natural habitat.

Peter’s lawyer, Davies, employed the first predictable tactic of the well-funded bully: the document dump. An entire van arrived at Gunner’s gleaming city office, depositing a dozen bankers boxes filled to the brim with Sterling Automotive’s records. They contained every invoice, every parts order, every time card, every daily sales report from the last seven years. It was a blizzard of paper designed to be overwhelming, a financial needle-in-a-haystack game intended to exhaust the plaintiff's resources and will to live.

Davies’s accompanying letter was a masterclass in smug condescension. “As you can see, my client runs a transparent and meticulous operation. Please feel free to review these at your leisure. We have complied fully with your request.”

Gunner just smiled. He’d seen this play a hundred times. He put two of his sharpest paralegals on the task, not with instructions to find a smoking gun, but to build a timeline. "I don't need you to find the lie," he told them. "I need you to map the truth. Every hour worked, every dollar paid. Let their own records tell the story."

For two weeks, the paralegals swam through the sea of paper, their efforts confirming what they already knew: the wage theft was systemic and blatant. But it was a civil matter. It proved their case, but it didn't counter Peter’s primary weapon: his ability to drag the proceedings out for years. Gunner needed more. He needed a kill shot.

The tell came during a conference call with Davies. Gunner was going through a checklist of requested items.

"We've provided all payroll records for Sterling Automotive, LLC," Davies said, his voice slick with feigned cooperation.

"I see that," Gunner said, his tone casual. "But my records show Mr. Sterling is the registered agent for five other LLCs. Harmony Creek Quick Lube, Sterling Classic Restorations, P&K Holdings… I need the full payroll and employment records for all of them."

A slight pause on the other end of the line. It was barely perceptible, but to Gunner, it was as loud as a gunshot.

"Those entities are separate from this lawsuit," Davies said, a new stiffness in his voice. "They have no employees relevant to your plaintiffs."

"My lead plaintiff, Jax Ryder, worked on vehicles that were assets of Sterling Classic Restorations, and he picked up parts from the Quick Lube. The lines are blurred, Mr. Davies. The court will grant the motion to compel. You know it, and I know it. Let's not waste a judge's time." Gunner was bluffing about the motion, but he was betting on Davies’s reluctance to draw a judge’s attention to this specific area.

The second tell was Davies’s quick capitulation. "Fine," he snapped. "We'll send them over." He was trying to sound annoyed, but what Gunner heard was fear. He had found the minefield. Now he just needed to know where the mines were buried.

When the new boxes arrived, Gunner didn't hand them off. He took them into his own office, closed the door, and told his assistant to hold all his calls. He methodically went through the payroll of each separate company. As Davies had claimed, they were mostly empty shells, holding companies for assets or property. None of the plaintiffs, other than Jax on occasion, had ever officially worked for them. It almost seemed like a dead end.

"Almost," Gunner muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair. The strategy didn't make sense. Why fight so hard to hide nothing? Unless the nothing is what you're trying to hide.

That's when a new thought sparked. It wasn't just about payroll. It was about how that payroll was reported.

He picked up his phone. "It's Kane. Get me Davies on the line."

When the flustered lawyer answered, Gunner got straight to the point. "I've reviewed the supplemental documents, and now I need the corresponding tax filings for all six LLCs for the past three years. Form 941s, 1120s, the works."

"That is an outrageous overreach!" Davies sputtered, all pretense of cooperation gone. "My client's corporate tax filings are confidential and have no bearing on a simple wage dispute!"

"They have every bearing," Gunner said, his voice dropping into a dangerously calm register. "You've provided payroll records. Now I want to see how you reported that payroll to the federal government. Unless, of course, there's a discrepancy you'd rather not have me find. The motion to compel for these, Mr. Davies, I will enjoy filing."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Checkmate. Davies knew that refusing a discovery request for documents directly related to employment costs would be a red flag a judge couldn't ignore. Three days later, a single, slim FedEx envelope arrived at Gunner's office.

Gunner spread the tax forms across his vast mahogany desk like a general laying out battle plans. He focused on the most recent year, the year of Jax's employment. He pulled up the Form 941s, the Employer's Quarterly Federal Tax Return, for each of the six companies.

Sterling Automotive, LLC. It showed a dozen employees, Jax included, with wages paid. Standard.

Harmony Creek Quick Lube. It showed one employee. Just one. Jax Ryder. It claimed he had been paid a full-time, hourly wage for that quarter.

Gunner’s eyes narrowed. He picked up the filing for Sterling Classic Restorations. Same thing. One employee: Jax Ryder. Claimed as a full-time, hourly worker. He went through all six LLCs. All six of them had filed paperwork with the Internal Revenue Service claiming that they had employed and paid Jackson 'Jax' Ryder a full forty-hour-per-week wage.

Gunner felt a slow, cold thrill creep up his spine. It wasn't a mistake. It was a pattern. It was fraud. But why?

He pulled out the corporate income tax returns, the Form 1120s. And there it was, shining like a diamond in a sewer. On each return, Peter had filed for a Work Opportunity Tax Credit, specifically the credit for hiring a qualified veteran. By claiming to employ Jax at six different companies, he was attempting to claim the tax credit six times over for a single employee. He hadn't just stolen Jax's wages; he had used his very identity, his status as a veteran—the same status he had mocked and used for humiliation—as a tool to defraud the United States government. He had turned Jax into a ghost employee six times over to line his own pockets.

The sheer, arrogant stupidity of it was breathtaking. Peter Sterling, in his infinite greed and his contempt for the little people, had created a perfect, self-contained paper trail of his own criminality.

Gunner Kane leaned back in his leather chair and laughed. It was a deep, genuine, and utterly terrifying sound. The war wasn't going to be a protracted siege after all. He had just been handed the targeting codes for a tactical nuclear strike.

He picked up the phone and dialed Jax's number.

"Ryder. Can you come into the city? There's something you need to see."

When Jax arrived, Gunner led him into the same conference room where the mediation had failed so spectacularly. This time, however, the table wasn't empty. It was covered with the six sets of tax filings, arranged in a neat, damning row.

Jax looked at the sea of paper, his face impassive. "What is it?"

"It's Peter Sterling's confession," Gunner said, his voice humming with suppressed energy. He tapped the first document. "This is his filing for the main shop. It shows you as an employee. All above board, on the surface."

He then slid his finger to the next one. "This is his filing for the Quick Lube. It also claims you as a full-time employee for the same period. As does this one for his restoration company. And this holding company. And this one. And this one."

Jax looked at the documents, his sharp mechanic's mind quickly grasping the pattern. "He's claiming me as an employee at all his businesses at once."

"Simultaneously," Gunner affirmed. "He was paying you the wage for one job—and not even the full amount of that—while claiming federal tax credits on you six times over. Specifically, the Work Opportunity Tax Credit for hiring a veteran."

The irony was so thick it was suffocating. The very status Peter had used as a tool for mockery was the one he’d used as a tool for fraud.

Jax was silent for a long moment, staring at the proof of Peter's staggering hubris. The insults, the wage theft, the humiliation—it all coalesced into this single, perfect act of self-destruction.

Gunner leaned against the table, crossing his arms. The predatory smile was back, sharper than ever.

"We were prepared for a long, drawn-out battle on the ground, Jax. A war of attrition. That was what Peter wanted, what he was counting on. He thinks he’s going to bleed us dry in the trenches."

He picked up the stack of fraudulent filings, holding them up. The papers felt heavy, dense with consequence.

"This," Gunner said, his voice dropping to a low, reverent growl, "is not a rifle. This is not a tank. This is an AH-64 Apache attack helicopter. It's the air support you call in when you don't want to just win the battle, you want to obliterate the enemy's ability to ever wage war again. This isn't about back pay anymore, Jax. This is about federal tax fraud. This is about prison time."

He placed the stack of papers squarely in the center of the table between them. "Their war is over. They just don't know it yet."