Chapter 10 - The Fall of the House
"What are you talking about?!" my mother shrieked, gripping the armrests of her wheelchair so hard her knuckles turned grey.
"I didn't come here to negotiate, Mom," I said coldly.
"The paper trail between your offshore accounts and the trustee's shell company was delivered to the FBI two hours ago."
Before the trustee could reach inside his jacket, the heavy glass doors behind me were shattered as an FBI tactical team breached the foyer, laser sights cutting through the dim light of the hallway.
"Federal agents! Put your hands on your head!" an officer rored.
The trustee dropped his portfolio, his face draining of color as he was slammed against the marble floor and cuffed in seconds.
My mother began to scream—a pathetic, piercing sound of absolute defeat—as agents moved up the grand staircase.
"Lucas! I am your mother! You are destroying your own blood!" she cried, flailing her thin arms as they wheeled her toward the elevator.
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I looked up at her, feeling no anger, no satisfaction—only a cold, hollow emptiness.
"You destroyed this family the moment you turned my home into a torture chamber," I said, turning my back as they loaded her into the transport van.
