Chapter 4 - THE TIDE TURNS
Within twenty-four hours, the storm exploded into the public sphere.
The lead headline on every major news network read: APEX CAPITAL INVESTIGATED IN MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR FRAUD AND SUSPICIOUS DEATH OF IRS AGENT.
The leaks I provided to the press created a domino effect. By noon, federal agents executed simultaneous search warrants at Apex Capital headquarters, my father’s real estate firm, and my brother Jared’s high-end restaurant.
I sat in my quiet living room, watching the television screen. Live footage showed federal officers wheeling boxes of evidence out of Jared’s restaurant. Jared himself was seen being led out in handcuffs, wearing a gray hoodie to hide his face from the horde of news cameras.
My phone rang continuously. Unregistered numbers, lawyers, press reporters. I ignored them all until a recognized number appeared: my father.
I answered and put it on speaker.
“Naomi!” his voice was hysterical, barely coherent over the sound of police sirens in the background. “What have you done?! The FBI just froze all our personal and business bank accounts! They’re seizing the house! They’ve arrested Jared!”
“Hello, Dad,” I said calmly, sipping my tea. “How’s the weather?”
“Are you insane?!” he screamed. “Jared is in a holding cell! They’re charging him with money laundering and federal tax evasion! He could face fifteen years!”
“He should have thought about that before he helped you launder dirty money,” I replied coldly. “And before he told me that Gemma’s funeral wasn’t important enough to ruin his vacation.”
“He’s your BROTHER!” Arthur wept openly now. “Naomi, I’m begging you! Call off your lawyers! Tell the FBI you made a mistake! Tell them the files were forged! We are your family!”
“Johnny was my family,” I corrected him, my tone as hard as diamond. “Gemma was my family. You three were just parasites who shared my DNA. When Johnny died, you didn't even call to ask if I was okay. You asked for forty thousand dollars.”
“Naomi, please—”
“I hope the prison food is as good as the catering in Saint Barthélemy, Dad,” I said, and hung up.
Thirty minutes later, there was a desperate pounding at my front door.
I walked over and opened it to find my mother.
Her white Chanel suit was rumpled, her hair disheveled, her makeup smeared with tears. She looked twenty years older than she had just yesterday. The proud, arrogant matriarch who had turned her nose up at my daughter’s grave was completely broken.
“Naomi…” she sobbed, sinking to her knees right on my welcome mat. “Please… have mercy. They’ve taken everything. The credit cards are declined. The neighbors are watching. The press is outside our gates.”
I looked down at her from the doorway.
“Do you remember what you said to me on Tuesday, Mother?” I asked gently.
She looked up, her lips trembling, unable to answer.
“You leaned over my daughter’s eulogy program and said, ‘Life goes on, Naomi. Don’t be dramatic.’”
I took a step back into the foyer.
“So don’t be dramatic, Mother. Life goes on.”
I closed the door in her face and locked it.
I thought that was the end of it. I thought the law would take care of the rest, and I could finally be left alone to grieve my lost family in peace.
May you like
I was wrong.
Because a desperate animal backed into a corner doesn't surrender—it bites.
