Chapter 3 - The Midnight RaidThe rain began to lash against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the estate as midnight approached. The flashing red and blue lights of three unmarked federal cruiser cars cut through the darkness of the private driveway, reflecting off the wet pavement in chaotic bursts.
Grace had put Noah to bed in the master suite upstairs, locking all the doors and staying by his side with a heavy iron fire poker resting against the wall—just in case.
I stood in the grand foyer, wearing a charcoal wool coat, waiting for the front doors to open.
The heavy oak doors swung inward, and two federal marshals stepped inside, escorting a disheveled, frantic Julian Carter between them. His expensive tailored suit was rumpled, his hair was out of place, and his eyes darted wildly around the hallway as if looking for a way to escape.
“Daniel!” Julian cried out, stumbling forward before the marshals jerked him back. “Thank God! You have to listen to me! Those men—they’re corrupt! They’re taking me based on fabricated evidence!”
I walked slowly down the marble staircase, my leather shoes clicking sharply against the steps. I didn't say a word until I stopped two feet away from him.
The smell of expensive scotch and raw panic radiated off him.
“Fabricated evidence?” I asked softly.
“Yes! Victoria planted those files!” Julian stammered, his voice cracking. “She hacked my cloud account! You know me, Dan! I’d never hurt you! I’d never hurt Sarah!”
The moment he said my late wife’s name, my patience snapped.
Smack!
My open palm struck Julian’s cheek with a force that echoed off the marble walls. He staggered backward, crashing into a mahogany console table before hitting the floor, clutching his red, stinging face in utter disbelief.
“Don’t you ever—ever—say her name with your lying mouth,” I snarled, stepping over him as he cowered on the floor. “I listened to the audio recording from the mechanic, Julian. I listened to you discuss how you loosened the brake lines on her SUV three weeks before our anniversary.”
Julian’s face drained of all color. His lips parted, but no sound came out. The last remaining threads of his pathetic defense dissolved into terrified silence.
“Federal Marshal,” I said, turning to the officer in charge. “He is a flight risk. He has active offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands and Singapore containing millions embezzled from Vance Enterprises. I want his passport seized, his assets frozen, and his cell placed in maximum security until the arraignment on Monday.”
“Understood, Mr. Carter,” the lead marshal nodded, signaling his partner.
As Julian was hauled away, kicking his legs weakly and sobbing hysterically like a child, he looked back at me one last time with pleading eyes.
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“Daniel... please... we’re brothers!”
“My brother died the day you decided to murder my wife and steal my son,” I said coldly, turning my back on him as the doors closed.
