Chapter 4 - The Quarantine of the Asset Line
By three-forty-five, the administrative offices on the fifth floor of St. Matthew Medical Center had been converted into a temporary field headquarters for the regional military logistics detail. The hospital’s chief administrator, a man named Henderson who wore a gold watch and a tailored silk tie, sat behind his mahogany desk with his hands clasped tightly over a stack of blue federal injunction papers.
Across from him sat General Vance, his black fountain pen resting on the green leather blotter between his elbows. Two armed guards stood within the frame of the door, their carbines held at the low-ready position across their chest plates.
"The Hayes Syndicate has outstanding loans with the maritime clearinghouse that total sixteen million dollars, General," Henderson said, his voice trembling slightly as the vibration from the rooftop helicopters continued to rattle his glass display cases. "The corporate bank has already verified that the insurance cancellation was executed within the standard parameters of the civil code. We cannot maintain the incubator power lines without an authorized billing code from the primary guarantor."
"The primary guarantor is now The Vance Territorial Trust LLC," the General said, his pen making a sharp, indigo checkmark on the upper corner of the medical registry sheet. "The liquidity index for the trust was verified by the Federal Reserve Bank in Boston at fourteen-hundred hours. The capital allocation stands at eighty-four million dollars, backed entirely by first-lien timber bonds and the maritime rights for the northern Penobscot channel."
He looked up, his grey eyes fixing on Daniel Hayes, who had been brought into the room by two security officers, his tie removed and his charcoal vest stained with a smear of hydraulic oil from the elevator door frame.
"The Hayes Syndicate has been operating three uninspected wood-chip barges out of the Bangor wharf since the winter of twenty-four, Mr. Hayes," the General said, his voice low and dry like a rusty chain being dragged through gravel. "My forestry officers logged the hull dimensions three weeks ago. Your father's signature appears on the secondary bills of lading for the unregistered spruce logs that were moved through the federal reservation lines without a customs clearance."
Daniel’s hand shook as he reached for the back of the leather chair. "The timber was cleared under the regional exemption act, General," he said, his voice dropping into a tight, defensive whisper. "The legal department verified the code."
"The legal department does not hold the keys to the Bangor lock gate, Mr. Hayes," General Vance said, standing up and pulling his white uniform cap over his short grey hair. "The harbor marshal has just executed an automatic quarantine on all three vessels. The hulls will be drained of their fuel allocations before the midnight tide, and the corporate accounts at the Skokie clearinghouse have been frozen under the federal maritime conservation act."
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He stepped toward the door, stopping within two inches of Daniel's shoulder.
"The divorce papers you dropped on my granddaughter's knees have been entered into the state appellate registry," the General said. "The court has already modified the asset division lines. You are leaving this building with nothing but the clothes on your back and the signature on your personal liability notes. The Hayes Syndicate belongs to the Vance Trust before the sun clears the outer breakwater."
