Arthur: You've been setting me up... this was a sting from the beginning!
Julian: It's called an audit, Arthur. Honest men don't fear audits.
Arthur: I built this district! Without me, these docks would have collapsed years ago!
Julian: These docks survived decades before you arrived, and they'll thrive decades after you're gone.
A sudden, wailing sound cut through the damp air outside the corrugated metal warehouse walls. Flashing red and blue lights painted the frosted windows in violent, rhythmic strokes as two heavy police cruisers and a federal marshals' SUV slid to a halt right outside the main loading bay. The heavy tires crunched against the gravel courtyard before the doors slammed open in synchronized unison.
Arthur: No... you actually called federal marshals over a warehouse dispute?!
Julian: Not a dispute. Grand larceny, embezzlement, and workplace battery.
Worker: Look outside! The feds are securing the back exits too!
Two armed federal agents stepped purposefully through the sliding metal doors, their tactical boots clicking sharply against the wet concrete floor. They scanned the interior of the fish market before locking their eyes directly onto Arthur, who stood trembling against the sorting table.
Agent Miller: Arthur Vance?
Arthur: There's been a misunderstanding! I'm the director here!
Agent Miller: You were the director. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.
Arthur: You can't arrest me! Do you know who my political connections are in this city?!
Agent Miller: Your political connections resigned from their oversight committees an hour ago. Move it, Vance.
The heavy steel handcuffs snapped around Arthur's wrists with a sharp, definitive click that echoed off the cold metal walls. Arthur thrashed wildly, screaming obscenities as the agents hauled him toward the exit, his expensive black coat dragging uselessly through the puddles of melting ice. The workers stood in absolute silence, watching their tyrant get led away like a common criminal.
Arthur: This isn't over! I'll sue you into the ground, Julian! I'll take everything you own!
Julian: Save your breath for the judge, Arthur. You're going to need every ounce of it.
The heavy metal loading bay doors rolled shut behind the departing officers, cutting off Arthur's muffled threats. A profound, peaceful quiet settled over the fish market warehouse for the first time in years. The air felt lighter, and the bitter tension that had choked the workspace evaporated completely.
Thomas: I don't know who you are, sir, but thank you. Truly.
Julian: Call me Julian, Thomas. And you don't need to thank me for doing what should have been done months ago.
Thomas: Are you really the new majority owner?
Julian: I am. And my first official act as owner is restoring this facility to the people who actually do the hard work.