Murrill must have felt the door slam in his face. He shot up from his comfy chair, jaws steeled for a fight.
“You had the gall to run me through Shadow Gambit? The Governor of this station?”
He walked right into it.
“Ex-Governor. Maybe if you had done the honorable thing and taken the first liner home, we wouldn’t be here today.”
Shireena added another holo to further complicate Murrill’s life.
“Here,” she said. “The final report. Take a look.” Shireena tossed him the projection. “I highlighted the key bits for you.”
Murrill shifted his eyes away, his face pallid.
“These ... these are my private financial records. You had no legal cause to request them.”
“Under Shadow Gambit,” Trevor said, “anyone deemed a threat to the well-being of Amity Station or its residents can be subject to an incursion of their personal accounts, both local and terrestrial. Since the missing UCVs denied Amity some necessary services, I instructed Shadow Gambit’s team to vet everyone with access to those funds.”
“I’ll save you some time.” Shireena piled on. “You have personally enriched yourself by nine hundred thousand UCVs. Eighty percent came directly from Halifax and Atumwa, but the rest were smaller, forced donations from a wide variety of business and political interests across the station. If there was a bribe to be had, you took it. If the opportunity to extort arose, you jumped on it. You were a busy man.”
And now, a cornered animal. Trevor wondered how Murrill would try to talk himself out of it. He didn’t have to wait long.
“What you have here proves nothing,” Murrill said. He directed his ire at everyone present, holo or otherwise. “I gave my life for this station. I left a thriving financial enterprise on Qasi Ransome behind. You people might not approve of how I conducted business, but I washed away this station’s dirt. If I received a few bonuses, so what? This,” he tossed the financial report back at Shireena, “will never stand up to scrutiny. You people are out of your league.”
Trevor appreciated the bluster. The justification, on the other hand?
“Rafe,” he said, “you should sit. There’s more.” Naturally, Murrill refused. “Suit yourself. We have collected thirteen certified testimonials from residents past and present. They will testify to your extortion schemes. Barukh, how many did you collect?”
Harmony’s Chief beamed.
“Seven. Half were diplomats, and one owned my favorite restaurant. They were thrilled to cooperate.”
“And what of you, Ilya?”
“Four, including our chief Customs supervisor.”
Ramesh added:
“I only managed one, but I’m new. I chalk up the difference to inexperience. Give me time, I’ll find a few more.”
“And I,” Trevor concluded, “hold the thirteenth. Last month, I contacted my predecessor, Hannibal Dorrit. He loves retirement. We talked for an hour – easily the most expensive deepstream I’ve ever made. I understand now why he’d become so apathetic.
“Four years ago, he discovered you were extorting from two Haven business owners – including the former manager of Raison Club. He confronted you rather than take his evidence to the Executive Board. He said if you made restitution, he’d see to it the evidence disappeared.
“Dorrit gave you a chance. In return, you asked him to name his price. Make it go away, leave well enough alone, and you’d add a healthy dose of credits to his Pension Deposit every standard month. Moreover, you wouldn’t negate his contract at his next rotation. You knew Dorrit had financial troubles back home.”
Trevor felt sick recounting the conversation. Dorrit broke down into sobs, as if the greatest burden of his life was lifted.
“He was an honest man who surrendered that day. He lost faith in himself, the station, and its principles. If called, he’ll go before the Superior Judge and testify to it all.”
Trevor knew what it meant to stare into the abyss, to feel everything slipping from his grasp. He assumed Murrill shared those feelings in this moment.
“Try to bring me down,” the ex-Governor said, “and you will go with me, Stallion.”
Trevor nodded.
“Maybe they’ll want to be rid of us both. But here’s the difference, Rafe. I can justify my actions at every turn. The men and women who protect this station stand with me, not to mention the President of the Collectorate. Who will stand with you?”
He’d been waiting with bated breath to ask that question. Trevor didn’t allow Murrill to answer – assuming he could.
“All you had to do was leave. A gracious departure, and I never would’ve investigated you. But you insisted on fighting. It wasn’t about the job, either. You’re a wealthy man. You don’t need it. Problem is, you couldn’t let go of the past.
“I’m genuinely sorry for what my grandfather did to your town fifty-two years ago. I wish he were a better man. But he’s gone, and your need for revenge should have died with him.
“So, here are my terms. They’re not negotiable. Leave Amity Station. There’s presently a cruiser in Landing Bay 14 destined for Qasi Ransome in two hours. Leave your station-issued pom with me, and I’ll have it destroyed. In return, I’ll seal our investigation behind an Executive Partition only I can access.
“Grow old in peace, and never think of the Stallions again. If you return, I’ll make sure you’re arrested after you pass through Customs. This is my station now. You’re done, Rafe Murrill.”
Trevor tossed back the last of his whiskey.
4
SMART MEN KNEW WHEN they were beaten. Rafe Murrill was no fool. He scoffed at the lot of them and turned for the door. Shireena intercepted him and held out her hand.
“Your pom, please.”
His eyes burrowed into her like a set of knives, but Shireena’s moonstone glare beat back the intimidation. He surrendered the device, and she stepped aside.
When Murrill left without any parting words or non-specific threats, Trevor felt the weight of two trying months vanish. He wasn’t ready to celebrate – no, he’d save his glee for confirmation of Murrill arriving safe and sound on Qasi Ransome.
