Chapter 15 - Race Against the ClockThe black armored Mercedes-Benz cut through downtown Boston traffic like a razor through silk, ignoring minor signals as it utilized private corporate transit lanes authorized only for emergency executive transport.
In the back seat, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Adrian sat in silence, staring at a digital dossier on his tablet, his mind calculating every possible legal counter-move. Beside him, Isabella reviewed the emergency injunction paperwork, her pen moving rapidly across the digital screen as she annotated precedents from 1980s corporate restructuring cases.
"If Judge Harrison recuses himself because of his old ties to the Sterling family," Adrian muttered without looking up, "we're dead in the water."
"He won't recuse himself," Isabella said steadily, not breaking her concentration.
Adrian glanced sideways at her, an eyebrow raised. "And how can you be so sure?"
"Because Judge Harrison's daughter owes her medical school scholarship to the Harrington Foundation's anonymous endowment fund," Isabella replied calmly, tapping a final signature line onto the screen. "And more importantly, he hates corporate blackmail more than he hates me."
A faint, humorless smirk touched the corner of Adrian’s lips. "You really are ruthless when you want to be, Isabella."
"I learned from the best, Mr. Harrington."
The car slammed to a smooth halt in front of the Federal District Courthouse on Federal Street. Apex security guards already had the doors open before the vehicle had even fully settled in Park.
"Stay close," Adrian instructed as they stepped out onto the granite steps, surrounded by flashing camera lights from a pack of opportunistic reporters who had somehow caught wind of the SEC freeze.
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"Mr. Harrington! Is it true that Harrington Global is facing insolvency?" shouted a reporter from the Boston Herald, thrusting a microphone forward.
Adrian didn't even break his stride. He shielded Isabella with his broad shoulder, cutting through the mob of media like an icebreaker through Arctic pack ice. Isabella kept her head high, her professional charcoal suit rustling as she walked right beside him through the heavy bronze doors of the courthouse.
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