Chapter 35 - The Pressure Mounts
By Saturday morning, the fallout was catastrophic.
Tyler Vance’s arrest for attempted arson at the county archives made front-page news, but because he refused to implicate Julianna Halston directly, her legal team in New York had filed an emergency injunction claiming the incident was an "unrelated rogue act of vandalism" orchestrated to prejudice the court against Aethelgard S.A.
The Fourth Circuit Federal District Court had temporarily placed the deep-water docks of the Thomas Ellis Terminal into federal receivership pending an expedited title hearing set for Wednesday morning.
Over five hundred dockworkers were officially locked out of the terminal gates.
A tense crowd of longshoremen in high-visibility vests, hard hats, and heavy work boots stood gathered outside the chain-link gates along the Cooper River. Private security guards hired by the federal receiver stood behind the barricades, preventing anyone from entering the administrative offices.
Television news vans from every major affiliate in Georgia, North Carolina, and South Carolina lined the waterfront boulevard. Social media was exploding with live streams: Working Families Locked Out! The Billionaire Feud Shuts Down Charleston Docks! Can Maren Bennett Save Her Father's Legacy?
Owen and I stepped out of our SUV into the brisk autumn morning. Marcus and four security guards formed an escort, but I held up my hand, stopping them.
"No security escort," I said firmly, looking at Owen. "These are my father's people. They worked beside him in the mud and the heat. I won't hide behind bodyguards."
Owen looked at me, his eyes full of unconditional trust and respect. He nodded, taking my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I’m right beside you, Maren."
As we walked toward the locked gates, the murmuring crowd grew quiet. An older dockworker with gray hair, a weathered face, and calloused hands stepped forward. It was Frank Miller, the president of the local longshoremen's union and one of my late father’s closest friends.
"Maren," Frank said, his voice raspy and strained with worry. "The receivers told us the pension checks for next month are frozen. They said our health insurance stops at midnight on Tuesday if this Swiss company takes over the title. Some of our boys have kids with medical conditions, Maren. We trusted your father. We trusted you."
A murmur of anxious agreement swept through the men and women behind him.
I looked Frank directly in the eye, then turned to face the entire crowd of workers, raising my voice so it carried clearly across the chilly river breeze.
"Listen to me!" I called out. The crowd went dead silent. "My father, Thomas Ellis, spent forty years on these docks. He taught me that an honest day's labor is sacred. The Halston family stole from him when he was alive, and now they are trying to steal from his memory. But I swear to every single one of you on my father’s grave: not one family here will miss a pension payment. Not one child will lose their healthcare."
"The court locked the trust accounts, Mrs. Bennett!" a younger worker called out from the back. "How are you gonna pay for it?"
Owen stepped forward, his imposing frame and calm authority instantly commanding the attention of every camera and worker present.
"As of eight o'clock this morning," Owen announced into the sea of microphones, "Bennett-Sterling Capital has established a twenty-million-dollar private liquidity guarantee. Every single dockworker's wage, pension credit, and medical premium will be paid in full by my personal firm out of our private accounts for as long as this legal battle lasts."
A stunned silence fell over the docks.
"And what's more," Owen continued, his arm wrapping securely around my shoulders, "we are not settling. We are not yielding forty percent of this harbor to an offshore syndicate. We are going into federal court on Wednesday, and we are going to dismantle the Halston fraud once and for all."
A deafening cheer erupted from the crowd. Hard hats were thrown into the air, and Frank Miller gripped my hand in both of his, tears welling in the corners of his weathered eyes. "Thomas would be so damn proud of you, girl. So damn proud."
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Across the street, parked behind a row of palmetto trees, a black Mercedes town car with tinted windows sat idling. Behind the dark glass, Julianna Halston watched the cheering crowd with narrowed, venomous eyes. She pulled out her phone, dialing a number.
"We need to escalate," Julianna hissed into the phone. "The billionaire is underwriting the payroll. We have to hit their personal foundation before Wednesday morning."
