chapter 23

Chapter 23: Cold Doors and Cold Cash

​The cold night wind stung my face as I stepped off the mansion driveway. Derrick’s heavy diesel tire tracks were still fresh in the gravel, leading straight back toward his workshop in the lower industrial district.

​My stomach twisted with a hollow ache. My mother’s cruel words echoed in my head, but Derrick’s hurt, angry face was what cut the deepest. He had risked his life to help me, and in return, he’d been humiliated and cast aside like garbage.

​I couldn't fix my family right now, but I couldn't let Derrick think I agreed with my mother.

​Twenty minutes later, I pulled up outside Derrick’s auto shop in my secondary truck. The garage was dark, but a faint, warm orange light flickered from the small living quarters above the bay.

​I got out, walked up to the heavy corrugated steel door, and pounded my fist against the metal.

​BANG. BANG. BANG.

​"Derrick!" I called out, my voice echoing down the empty street. "Derrick, open up! Please!"

​A light clicked on upstairs. Seconds later, the heavy iron bolt on the side pedestrian door slid back with a loud CLANG.

​Derrick stepped into the doorway, his tall frame blocking the light. He wasn't wearing his work jacket anymore—just a dark t-shirt covered in fresh grease. His eyes were cold, distant, and filled with a burning, bitter hatred.

​"What do you want, Evelyn?" he spat, his voice low and sharp.

​"I came to apologize," I said, taking a step forward. "What my mother said back there... it was disgusting. I don't think of you like that, Derrick. I never have. I need you—"

​"Save it," Derrick cut in, his jaw clenching tight. He didn't just look angry; he looked completely done with me. "I don't care what your rich mother thinks. But you stood right there while she treated me like a dog. You brought me into your high-society mess, using me to fight off your ex-fiancé while you two play games over millions."

​"It's not a game!" I pleaded, holding up my hands. "Julian is trying to steal my family's factories! He's going to starve the city out—"

​"I don't give a damn about your factories, Evelyn!" Derrick barked, stepping closer until he was towering over me, his breath fogging in the cold air. "I helped you build that truck because I thought we were surviving together. But you're just like Julian. You use people until you get what you want, then you throw them away when your wealthy life calls you back."

​"Derrick, that's not true—"

​"Get off my property," Derrick snarled, pointing a thick, grease-stained finger toward the street. "If I see your face or your truck near my shop again, I won't just lock the door. I'll throw you out myself. Now get the hell out of here."

​Before I could speak another word, he slammed the heavy steel door in my face. The deadbolt slid home with a heavy, final THUD.

​I stood alone on the dark pavement, the cold air soaking into my clothes. I had lost him. The bridge was completely burnt.

​I took a deep breath, wiped the heat from my eyes, and hardened my heart. I couldn't afford to break down. The banks were closing, the city was shutting down, and Julian was already making his move.

​I got back into my truck and drove straight to the industrial distribution warehouse on 12th Street.

​Inside the cavernous, brightly lit supply depot, workers were already frantically packing crates as news of the nationwide supply chain failure spread. I walked straight to the manager’s office, threw open my heavy duffel bag, and dumped six heavy bricks of solid gold bullion and fifty thousand dollars in physical cash onto his desk.

​The manager’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

​"I need three hundred gallons of commercial diesel, ten barrels of machine oil, fifty cases of non-perishable military rations, and two industrial arc-welders," I said, my voice flat and commanding. "Delivered to Vance Manufacturing Plant No. 1 on 4th Avenue in one hour."

​The manager swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he touched the gold. "Miss... wire transfers aren't clearing. The central bank locked the digital network twenty minutes ago."

​"That is real gold and hard cash," I said, leaning over his desk. "Is it enough or not?"

​"It's... it's more than enough," he stammered, pulling out a clipboard. "We'll load the flatbed trucks immediately."

​Forty-five minutes later, I arrived at my father's main industrial factory on 4th Avenue. The massive steel structure loomed in the dark like a sleeping giant, surrounded by high chain-link fences and heavy concrete barriers.

​I walked up to the main security terminal near the gate, pulled the master encryption drive from my jacket, and slotted it directly into the offline mainframe console.

​BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

​The digital display flashed bright green: AUTHORIZATION GRANTED. WELCOME, EVELYN VANCE.

​With a deep, mechanical groan, the heavy steel security gates rolled open. The massive industrial lights across the complex flickered to life one by one, illuminating the vast manufacturing floor, the heavy press machines, and the massive diesel generators sitting in the back yard.

​As the supply flatbeds pulled into the yard to unload the fuel and rations, I looked back toward the city skyline.

​Julian had my parents and his mercenaries. Derrick hated my guts. But this factory was mine now—and I was going to turn it into an impenetrable fortress before the sun came up.