Chapter 10 - THE FALL OF THE PATRIARCH
The double doors of the ballroom swung open.
Four men in dark suits and windbreakers with the initials FBI stenciled in yellow across the back walked into the room. They did not move with the hurry of local police; they walked with the slow, methodical confidence of federal authority.
The lead agent, a tall man with a leather folio in his hand, walked straight to the stage.
"Robert Whitmore?" the agent asked, his voice carrying through the quiet hall.
Robert did not answer. He stared at the agent as if the man were a ghost.
"We have a warrant for your arrest issued by the United States District Court for the District of South Carolina," the agent said, opening the folio. "You are being charged with federal chemical diversion, wire fraud, and the attempted homicide of Clara Whitmore using a restricted substance purchased under a fraudulent agricultural license."
He stepped up onto the stage, pulled Robert’s hands behind his back, and clicked the silver handcuffs into place.
The sound of the metal lock was loud, clear, and final.
As they led Robert down the center aisle of the ballroom, he did not look at the crowd. He did not look at Arthur Pendelton, who was already disappearing through the side exit to protect his own career.
He looked only at Margaret.
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His eyes were filled with a sudden, desperate pleading—the look of a man who had spent his life holding all the cards, only to realize the table had been turned while he wasn't looking.
But Margaret did not look back. She turned her face toward Adrian and Clara, her arms wrapping around them as the federal agents escorted her husband out into the cold, rainy Charleston night.
