Chapter 7 - The Storage RoomThe alley behind the laundromat on 84th smelled like scorched dryer lint and wet cardboard. Claire slipped on a patch of black ice near the grease trap, her shoulder hitting the brick wall with a sickening scrape. She gasped, holding her side, her knuckles white against the rough masonry.
She found the metal service door labeled B-4.
She knocked three times. "Sarah? It's Claire."
A deadbolt clicked. The door opened two inches, caught by a heavy brass security chain. A young woman with red-rimmed eyes and a faded green fleece stared out through the gap.
"The code," Sarah whispered.
"Delaware 1998," Claire said, leaning heavily against the doorframe.
The chain rattled off, and Sarah pulled her inside, slamming the heavy door shut and throwing both bolts.
The room was tiny, illuminated by a single bare bulb hanging from an exposed ceiling pipe. A stack of plastic storage totes sat against the back wall, topped with a battered leather duffel bag.
Sarah stood there, her hands shaking so hard she had to jam them into the pockets of her fleece. "They took my laptop from my apartment yesterday. I saw the maintenance guy let them in from the street corner."
"They don't have the legal authority to touch your uncle's accounts," Claire said, sitting down on an upturned plastic crate because her lower back was screaming with pain. "Marcus Vance is filing an emergency injunction right now."
Sarah let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Your father-in-law is golfing buddies with the district surrogate judge. You think an injunction matters to them?"
Claire looked up. Sarah’s face was pale, but her eyes held a sharp, stubborn glint that reminded Claire instantly of the old security guard who used to sit on the back porch of her father's estate, cleaning his fishing reels with mechanical precision.
"It matters if we don't use the surrogate court," Claire said.
Sarah frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"This isn't a state probate issue," Claire said, her voice steadying as the plan fell into place. "The holding company is registered under federal maritime jurisdiction because of the port facilities in Newark. My father set it up that way in 1994 so the state couldn't touch the capital reserves during tax audits."
May you like
Sarah blinked. "And?"
"And Arthur’s judge has zero jurisdiction over federal maritime filings," Claire said. "We don't need a New York court. We need the Southern District Federal Clerk on Pearl Street."
