Chapter 13 - The Web of RetributionZ
The two-hour drive south along Interstate 75 toward Sanibel was bright and clear, but my rearview mirror occupied ninety percent of my tactical attention.
Every vehicle that lingered in our blind spot for more than three miles got logged in my head: a gray Dodge Ram that exited near Sarasota, a white delivery van that turned off toward Venice, and a black late-model sedan with tinted windows that stayed four cars behind us for over forty miles before finally disappearing into a highway rest stop near Fort Myers.
I didn’t mention any of it to Maya. She spent the drive singing along to Elena’s old acoustic folk playlist on the stereo and telling me elaborate stories about the sea creatures she planned to rescue from tide pools.
We checked into a quiet, family-run beachfront cottage on the western tip of the island. The foundation had booked a ground-floor suite with a screened porch that looked directly out onto the sea oats and the white-sand beach. By the time Maya finished unpacking her stuffed animals on the twin bed and collapsed into an afternoon nap, the sun was beginning to cast long, copper shadows across the water.
I stepped onto the porch, pulled my phone from my pocket, and dialed a number I hadn’t called in three years.
The line rang twice before a gruff, familiar voice answered: “Vance. Tell me you’re calling to tell me you bought that fishing boat.”
It was Ray Morrison. Ray had been my squad’s radio operator during the 2012 deployment. After receiving his discharge, he had spent eight years working as a private investigator in Atlanta specializing in corporate intelligence and security risk assessment.
“Ray,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I need a background check on someone. Fast.”
Ray’s tone changed instantly, shifting from relaxed military banter to operational focus. “Who’s the target?”
“Bradley Sterling. Former senior partner at Apex Global Capital.”
A heavy pause echoed on the line, followed by the sound of rapid computer keystrokes.
“Marcus... brother, what are you doing tangled up with that snake?” Ray asked. “The video of what happened on your flight went viral everywhere. I saw that captain rip him a new one. The entire veteran community was cheering for you.”
“He was at the airport in Tampa two hours ago, Ray. Standing fifty feet from my daughter, staring right through us.”
Ray stopped typing. “Tampa? That’s not a coincidence, Marcus. Hold on. Let me pull up the SEC filings and civil court registries.”
The line fell silent except for the clicking of keys and the rhythmic crash of the waves outside my porch.
“Holy hell,” Ray muttered after ninety seconds. “Marcus, this guy didn’t just lose his job. The fallout from that viral video destroyed him completely. Within forty-eight hours of that footage hitting the news, Apex Global lost three state pension funds worth over nine hundred million dollars in managed assets. The executive committee forced Sterling to sign a predatory separation agreement that stripped him of his equity stake, his performance bonuses, and his deferred stock options. He went from being worth roughly twenty-two million dollars to facing bankruptcy and two massive civil suits from his former partners for corporate reputational sabotage.”
I gripped the wooden railing of the porch. “What about his personal life?”
“His wife filed for divorce four months ago,” Ray read from the screen. “Took the house in Greenwich, Connecticut, and secured full custody of their two kids. The court records show Sterling was cited for contempt of court twice for harassing her attorneys. The guy is completely unhinged, Marcus. He liquidated his remaining personal savings two weeks ago, pulled ninety thousand dollars in cash from an ATM in Manhattan, and went off the grid. His last known credit card swipe was at a car rental agency in Orlando three days ago.”
My stomach went cold. “He followed us.”
“He blames you, Marcus,” Ray said, his voice deadly serious. “To an egomaniac like Sterling, he didn't ruin his own life by being a bastard on an airplane. You ruined his life. Captain Miller ruined his life. The video ruined his life. In his twisted mind, you took his family, his money, and his reputation. You need to call the local sheriff right now and get Maya into a secure location.”
“A restraining order won’t stop a man who has nothing left to lose, Ray,” I said quietly. “If he’s stalking us, he wants a confrontation. And if police cruisers start rolling up to this cottage with sirens blazing, Maya is going to know something is terribly wrong. She’s already endured enough trauma to last three lifetimes.”
“Marcus, you have one leg and an eight-year-old child to protect,” Ray insisted, genuine fear bleeding through his voice. “Don’t play the lone sentry. Let law enforcement handle this.”
“I’ll call the county dispatch and report a suspicious person in the area so they keep a patrol on the beach road,” I replied. “But I’m staying awake tonight, Ray. If he comes near this cottage, he’s going to find out that a wounded Marine is still a Marine.”
“I’m booking a flight to Fort Myers tonight,” Ray said without hesitation. “I’ll be on the island by six tomorrow morning. Keep your doors locked and your eyes on the tree line, brother.”
“Thanks, Ray,” I said, and ended the call.
I walked back into the bedroom. Maya was sleeping peacefully, her breath soft and rhythmic, her arm thrown over the stuffed rabbit. On the bedside table sat her sketchbook, opened to the drawing of her mother as an angel above the ocean.
May you like
I walked over to my carry-on bag, reached into the bottom lining beneath my spare shirts, and retrieved the heavy, solid-steel tactical flashlight and the folding combat knife I had carried through three tours in Helmand Province.
I sat down in the armchair by the front window, facing the dark, quiet driveway, and began my night watch.
