Chapter 6 - The Fall of the House of Whitmore
Richard Whitmore sat in his designer living room, staring at the television screen as his own face stared back at him. The news anchor was describing him as an "alleged domestic abuser with ties to systemic police corruption."
"This is a lie," Richard muttered, his hands shaking as he tried to dial his lawyer's number.
The call wouldn't go through. His personal cell service had been disconnected.
The front door opened, and Margaret walked in, her face pale, her hair disheveled. She wasn't wearing her pearls today. "Richard, we have to go. The state troopers are at the gate. They have a warrant for your arrest for felony assault, and they’re serving me with indictments for conspiracy and obstruction."
"I'm not going to jail, Mother!" Richard screamed, throwing his glass against the fireplace. "I’m a Whitmore! We own this town!"
"We don't own anything anymore," Margaret cried. "The bank took the house this morning, Richard. They called the note on the mortgage under the corporate bankruptcy clause. We have forty-eight hours to vacate."
Before Richard could answer, the glass windows of the patio shattered inward.
May you like
A dozen state tactical officers, helmets on and weapons drawn, poured into the room. "Hands on your heads! Now!"
Richard reached toward his waist—not for a weapon, but out of sheer, panicked instinct. An officer took him down with a tackle that drove his face hard into the very white rug where Lily’s blood had pooled the day before.
