Chapter 7 - The Sins of the Patriarch
Richard’s face hardened into a mask of pure stone, his eyes flickering with the first true flash of doubt.
"You're bluffing," he rasped, though the slight quiver in his right eyelid betrayed his composure.
"Arthur Sterling has been my personal counsel for forty years."
"He wouldn't betray me for anything in this world."
"Arthur Sterling has three grandchildren who attend school in Stamford, Mr. Dre," Julian interjected, his voice cutting through the tension.
"When my agents showed him the surveillance photos of your private contractors planting secondary incendiary devices near his home, he chose his family over your blood money."
"He turned state’s evidence at four o'clock this afternoon."
"The search warrants currently being executed on your Manhattan offices aren't just for insurance fraud."
"They are for attempted murder, racketeering, and treasonous financial warfare against domestic energy markets."
The sixty guests began backing away from Richard as if he carried an airborne plague.
The very men who had shaken his hand twenty minutes earlier were now holding their hands up, avoiding eye contact at all costs.
"Richard, is this true?" asked Judge Harrison Sterling, the patriarch's closest lifelong friend, his voice shaking with disbelief.
"Did you use my private investment consortium to launder the Hensley toxic assets?"
Richard did not even look at the man who had vacationed with him for thirty summers in Martha’s Vineyard.
"You made thirty percent annual returns for a decade, Harrison," Richard said coldly, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.
"You never asked where the numbers came from when you were buying your third yacht in Monaco."
"Don't play the innocent martyr now that the bill has come due."
Matthias took two stumbling steps up onto the platform, dropping the severed wires onto the carpet at his father's feet.
His face was smeared with dark grime and fresh blood from his cuts, his eyes wide and hollow.
"Why Serena, Dad?" Matthias choked out, his voice raw with agony.
"Why did you want her here tonight?"
"Even if you hated me, even if you wanted me dead to collect the policy, why did you force her to come?"
"She never did anything to you!"
"She saved your life when you had that pulmonary embolism two years ago!"
Richard looked down at his only son, his expression vacant of any human warmth.
"Because she saw through me from the day you brought her home, Matthias."
"The rest of your shallow, social-climbing friends were desperate to flatter me."
"They bowed, they laughed at my jokes, and they begged for crumbs from my table."
"She looked at this house, she looked at our wealth, and she saw exactly what it was: a gilded slaughterhouse."
"I knew the moment she took that job at the trauma clinic that she would never submit to the Dre family rules."
"A woman who cannot be bought is a liability to an enterprise like ours."
"And when an enterprise is facing extinction, all liabilities must be written off simultaneously."
I stood beside the fireplace, my fingers digging into the stone as another contraction surged through my abdomen.
Every nerve in my pelvic floor felt like it was on fire, but I forced my breathing into the steady, measured rhythm I used during mass casualty events.
"You call it an enterprise, Richard," I said, my voice steady despite the sweat gathering at my hairline.
"The rest of the world calls it a criminal syndicate."
"You used your son’s pathetic desperation for your approval to sign off on shell corporations you knew were toxic."
"You exploited Fiona’s insatiable greed to keep him blind and compliant."
"And you planned to murder every person standing in this room to erase your paper trail."
"Look around you, Richard."
"Look at the people who gave you their life savings, their reputations, and their loyalty."
"None of them are ever going to look at you with respect again."
"To them, you are just an old, desperate thief facing life in a federal penitentiary without the possibility of parole."
A low, rumbling groan escaped Richard’s throat, a sound of wounded aristocratic pride turning into feral rage.
He lunged forward, raising his heavy silver-headed cane with both hands, aiming directly for my head.
"You arrogant little whore!" he roared.
Before the cane could descend an inch, Matthias threw his entire body across the platform, colliding heavily with his father’s chest.
The two men crashed onto the polished floor in a tangle of limbs, the silver cane clattering loudly against the limestone hearth.
Matthias pinned his father’s shoulders to the carpet, his bloody hands gripping the old man’s silk lapels.
"Don't you ever touch her again!" Matthias screamed, tears streaming down his face as he stared into the cold eyes of his father.
"She is the only good thing that ever happened to this cursed family, and you tried to destroy her!"
Julian was on the platform in two strides, his heavy boot pressing firmly onto Richard’s right wrist, forcing his fingers away from the hidden pocket of his tuxedo.
Julian reached down, wrenched Richard’s arm behind his back, and secured a pair of heavy stainless steel handcuffs around his wrists.
The metallic click of the ratchet locking into place sounded like a thunderclap in the silent room.
Richard lay on the floor, his silver hair disheveled, his tailored suit twisted and rumpled against the floor.
He didn't scream or thrash.
He simply stared up at the crystal chandelier with cold, dead eyes, breathing through his nose in ragged bursts.
"Federal marshals, secure the prisoner," Julian ordered into his radio collar.
Two armed marshals stepped onto the platform, hauling the fallen patriarch to his feet and marching him down toward the front entrance.
The guests parted instantly, no one daring to brush against the disgraced billionaire as he was dragged away into the snow.
I watched him go, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over me like black water.
The microphone slipped from my fingers, hitting the Persian carpet with a soft thud.
My vision blurred at the edges, the faces in the room spinning into indistinct streaks of light and shadow.
Matthias scrambled toward me on his hands and knees, reaching out to steady my trembling frame.
"Serena, please," he begged, his voice filled with frantic terror.
"Serena, look at me!"
May you like
"Don't touch me, Matthias," I whispered, the words barely a breath.
And then, with a sharp, terrifying pop inside my lower pelvis, my water broke, soaking the bottom hem of my burgundy velvet dress.
