Chapter 8 - The Golden Fall
The FBI agents dragged Blake off the glass table and slammed him violently onto the carpeted floor.
He kicked and screamed like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum, demanding that our father do something to stop them.
My father just sat completely frozen in his chair, staring at the floor with hollow, devastated eyes.
The lead agent snapped heavy steel handcuffs onto Blake’s wrists, reading him his Miranda rights loudly.
Blake was being arrested for corporate embezzlement, kidnapping, and the premeditated murder of Rebecca Sterling.
As they hauled him to his feet, Blake locked his furious eyes on my calm face.
He spat venomous curses at me, swearing that he would destroy me from inside his prison cell.
I did not raise my voice or show him an ounce of anger.
I simply leaned across the table and whispered that his custom-made jacket had a spot of dust on it.
Blake screamed in pure agony as the agents dragged him out into the hallway and out of our lives.
The remaining board members sat in stunned, terrified silence, waiting to see what I would do next.
I turned my attention to the old man sitting at the head of the table.
My father slowly looked up at me, a pathetic tear rolling down his wrinkled cheek.
He whispered my name, his voice cracking with the desperate hope of a man begging for forgiveness.
He told me he had been blinded by Blake’s charm and that he was incredibly proud of the empire I had built.
He reached his shaking hand across the table to touch my arm.
I did not let his fingers graze my custom suit.
I pulled out a secondary piece of paper from the yellow folder and placed it in front of him.
It was a copy of an offshore bank transfer receipt dated exactly one day after Rebecca’s car crash.
The receipt showed my father had personally authorized the transfer of hush money to the actual mechanic.
My father had known that Blake murdered my wife, and he had paid to cover it up to protect the family name.
The color completely drained from his face as he realized I knew his darkest secret.
I told him I was not going to send him to prison because he was too weak to survive it.
Instead, I was taking his company, his legacy, and every last dime of his personal fortune.
I ordered him to vacate the building by the end of the day or my private security would throw him out onto the street.
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My father buried his face in his hands and began to openly weep.
I turned around and walked out of the boardroom without looking back.
