Chapter 5 - The Purge of Rourke HouseBy dawn, the underground ecosystem of Rourke House had been turned upside down.
While Julian Vance was locked securely in the reinforced basement wine cellar—waiting for federal authorities who played by Maxwell’s rules rather than the city’s—the rest of the estate was systematically purged of the conspirators.
Dr. Hayes was intercepted by loyal enforcers before he could board a private flight out of T.F. Green Airport, carrying his medical logs and transaction receipts straight back to the study.
I sat at the edge of the mahogany desk in the study as the first rays of morning light filtered through the stained-glass windows, organizing physical therapy schedules and detoxification protocols for Maxwell.
The door opened softly, and Maxwell walked in. He was moving better today, the severe muscle stiffness beginning to recede now that we had completely cut off his exposure to Compound B-7 and started saline flushes. He still used the cane for support, but the ghost of the helpless man in the wheelchair was gone.
He set two steaming mugs of black coffee on the desk, sliding one toward me before pulling out the leather chair opposite.
“Dr. Hayes has confessed to everything,” Maxwell said quietly, taking a sip of his coffee. “Every dosage, every bank transfer, every forged medical report. By noon, Julian and his co-conspirators will be facing federal racketeering, attempted murder, and corporate fraud charges that will put them away for the rest of their natural lives.”
“And your empire?” I asked, looking up from my notes.
“Recovered,” Maxwell replied, his dark gray eyes steady. “Every shipping terminal, every warehouse, every account. The board of directors is already holding an emergency meeting to reinstate me as active CEO. And this time, nobody will ever question my authority again.”
He paused, leaning forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk.
“Which brings us to you, Martha.”
My stomach tightened instinctively. “Am I fired?”
A faint, rare smile touched the corners of Maxwell’s mouth. “Fired? You uncovered a corporate conspiracy, saved my life, exposed a rogue physician, and helped me walk out of a prison I’ve been trapped in for three years. If I fired you, my mother would rise from the grave just to slap me.”
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, a small laugh escaping my lips. “Good. Because honestly, the dusting in the west wing isn't finished yet.”
“Forget the dusting,” Maxwell said firmly. “Effective immediately, you are no longer housekeeping staff. I am appointing you as my personal director of medical recovery and corporate security liaison. With a salary that will make sure you never have to worry about student loans, false accusations, or nursing licenses again.”
I stared at him, genuinely stunned. “Mr. Rourke… that’s… that’s an enormous change.”
“Life in Rourke House is about to change significantly for everyone,” Maxwell said, standing up and holding out his hand across the desk. “What do you say, Martha? Ready to help me run the city?”
May you like
I looked at his outstretched hand—calloused, strong, and completely steady—and placed my palm in his.
“Deal.”
