Chapter 6 - The Fall of the House of BannonBy sunrise, federal agents in dark windbreakers had swarmed the Bannon estate in Providence, executing simultaneous search warrants across three shipping terminals, two corporate offices, and Malcolm Bannon’s personal residence.
News vans crowded the iron gates, broadcasting live feeds of FBI agents carrying cardboard boxes of evidence, ledgers, and hard drives out of the mansion.
Inside the grand study, Malcolm Bannon sat in his leather armchair, staring blankly at the television screen showing federal agents reading Miranda rights to his associates. His empire—built on fifty years of blood, intimidation, and untouchable wealth—had dissolved in less than twelve hours.
The door opened slowly. Patrick walked in, his face pale, holding his car keys.
"They're coming for you next, Dad," Patrick said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "The U.S. Attorney has unsealed a forty-count indictment. RICO charges, money laundering, conspiracy, and... ordering the assassination of Shawn."
Malcolm did not turn around. He stared straight ahead at the cold fireplace. "You think running away will save you, Patrick? A Bannon is a Bannon until the day they die."
"I'm not running away," Patrick said softly. "I'm going to Pennsylvania. I'm going to see my son. And I'm going to beg Jillian for forgiveness—even though I know I don't deserve it."
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Malcolm finally turned his head, his eyes burning with ancient fury. "You are cutting your own throat."
"No, Dad," Patrick replied, turning toward the door. "I'm finally cutting the strings."
