Chapter 6 - The Arrival of JusticeThe doorbell rang three times—sharp, official, and demanding.
In the living room, Martha buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet, humiliating sobs. Richard stared blankly at the wall, a broken old man whose legacy had just been burnt to the ground by his favorite son's arrogance. Claire stood frozen, unable to look anyone in the eye, while Lily and Noah leaned securely against their mother’s sides, safe in the harbor Evelyn had fought so hard to build.
Evelyn walked down the short hallway toward the grand entryway, her footsteps echoing crisply against the hardwood. Iris Chen and Rebecca Shaw stood ready by the door, while Arthur Bell watched from the archway with calm, clinical detachment.
Evelyn reached out and unlocked the heavy brass deadbolt.
She pulled the door open.
Two county sheriff’s deputies stood on the snowy porch, their breath pluming in the freezing air, flanked by a handful of reporters holding cameras with lenses gleaming in the gray morning light. Behind them, a news van sat idling at the front gates, its satellite dish spinning against the gray winter sky.
"Mrs. Monroe?" the lead deputy asked, his expression professional and respectful.
"Good morning, Officer," Evelyn replied steadily. "You're right on time."
The deputy nodded, stepping over the threshold into the foyer. "We have a warrant for the arrest of Grant Monroe, issued by the federal district court regarding allegations of corporate wire fraud, embezzlement, and asset concealment."
From behind Evelyn, a pathetic, strangled sound escaped Grant’s throat. He was still kneeling on the living room rug, staring up at the doorway like a ghost haunting the ruins of his own kingdom.
"He's right through there," Evelyn said, stepping aside to give the deputies a clear line of sight into the living room.
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As the officers walked past her, their heavy boots stepping onto the pristine hardwood floor, the flashing lights of camera shutters from the reporters waiting outside caught the reflection in the grand mirror by the stairs.
Grant didn't try to run. He didn't try to stand up. He simply crumpled forward against the edge of the mahogany bookshelf, his hands flat against the floor, staring blankly at the spot where Celeste’s abandoned silver gifts still sat.
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