Chapter 4 - The Fall of the Robles EmpireThe heavy double doors of the building’s main lobby were pushed open at 5:30 AM as light rain continued to fall over Michigan Avenue.
Outside, five black federal sedans and four Chicago Police Department squad cars sat with their red and blue emergency lights flashing bright against the wet asphalt.
Dozens of news camera crews, alerted by anonymous corporate tips, packed the sidewalk, their flashbulbs popping like silver lightning through the morning mist.
Carmen Robles was led through the glass lobby doors first. Her expensive gold gown was rumpled, her manicured hands bound tightly behind her back in heavy steel handcuffs, her face pale, covered in sweat, crying tears of wild, furious embarrassment as reporters shouted questions at her.
"Mrs. Robles! Is it true you attacked your daughter-in-law on her wedding night?!"
"Are your real estate accounts frozen by the FBI?!"
Right behind her came Javier, his expensive tuxedo ruined, his head bowed low, weeping pathetically as two federal marshals guided him into the back seat of a transport sedan.
Standing near the edge of the lobby steps, wearing an immaculate dark wool coat, holding his chin high, was Alexander.
Beside him stood the Chief of Federal Investigations, Marcus Sterling, holding a signed master confession form that Javier had signed inside the penthouse five minutes earlier under threat of forty years in maximum security.
"The case is bulletproof, Colonel," Agent Sterling reported, offering a firm handshake. "With the forensic evidence from the hotel suite and the financial logs you provided, Carmen Robles and her son are facing twenty-five years without parole."
Alexander looked down at the signed confession, then looked out at the rain-soaked streets of Chicago.
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"Make sure they serve every single day, Marcus," Alexander said softly.
He turned on his heel, stepping into his private SUV, driving straight back to my apartment to be with our daughter.
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