Chapter 3 - The Early Morning Knock
At 6:45 AM on Black Friday, the massive oak front doors of the Peterson brownstone remained deadbolted from the inside. Inside the master bedroom, Mark Peterson rolled over in the king-sized bed, expecting to smell the rich aroma of artisanal French press coffee drifting up from the kitchen, paired with the quiet, subservient rustle of me moving around to ensure his morning routine went off without a hitch.
Instead, the house was dead silent.
Frowning, Mark threw off the silk duvet, slipped his feet into his monogrammed cashmere slippers, and walked down the grand curved staircase. The downstairs was freezing. The smart thermostat had been remotely locked down from an external administrator account, plunging the entire house to a chilly fifty-two degrees.
“Chloe?” Mark called out, his voice echoing off the hardwood foyer.
No answer.
He walked into the kitchen. The counters were pristine. My overnight bag was gone from the mudroom. But sitting right in the center of the Italian marble island was a single, crisp white envelope bearing his name, written in my precise, elegant handwriting.
His heart skipped a beat. He ripped the envelope open, his eyes scanning the single sheet of heavy cardstock inside.
It wasn't a note from me. It was a formal legal summons from the Circuit Court of Cook County, accompanied by an emergency temporary restraining order and a petition for dissolution of marriage.
“NOTICE OF ACTION,” the bold letters screamed. “PETITIONER: CHLOE PETERSON. RESPONDENT: MARK PETERSON. CUSTODY: SOLE PHYSICAL AND LEGAL CUSTODY GRANTED PENDING EMERGENCY HEARING. ASSET FREEZE: ALL JOINT AND INDIVIDUAL ACCOUNTS LINKED TO PETERSON HOLDINGS FROZEN EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.”
“What the hell is this?” Mark muttered aloud, his hands beginning to shake violently.
Before he could even reach for his cell phone to call me, a sharp, authoritative pounding echoed through the grand foyer. Bang, bang, bang.
Mark bolted toward the front door, wrenching the heavy wood open, expecting to see me standing there with my tail between my legs, ready to beg for forgiveness.
Instead, standing on the porch were two uniformed Chicago Police Department officers, flanked by a federal marshal holding a thick stack of blue-backed legal documents.
“Mark Peterson?” the lead officer asked, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.
“Y-yes? I’m Mark Peterson. What is the meaning of this? Do you know who my father is?”
“Mr. Peterson,” the federal marshal stepped forward, flashing a gold badge. “We have an active federal warrant for the seizure of all electronic communications, corporate ledgers, and financial records belonging to Peterson Logistics, as well as a subpoena for your immediate appearance before a federal grand jury regarding wire fraud, corporate embezzlement, and tax evasion.”
Color drained completely from Mark’s face. He staggered backward, his shoulder slamming hard against the interior wall.
“Fraud? Embezzlement? You’re making a mistake. My father runs this company. I’m just an executive—!”
“Your father is currently being picked up at his country club in Lake Forest,” the marshal interrupted coldly. “And your mother and sister are being detained for questioning regarding accessory to financial crimes and obstruction of justice. Have a nice morning, Mr. Peterson.”
The officers brushed right past him, walking into the grand house like they owned it, their heavy boots scuffing the imported Turkish rugs that Carol loved so much.
Mark stood paralyzed in the hallway, his phone buzzing violently in his palm. He looked down at the screen. It was an incoming call from his mother, her panic bleeding straight through the digital interface.
With trembling fingers, Mark swiped to answer.
“Mom?!” he choked out.
“Mark!” Carol shrieked on the other end, the sound of sirens blaring loudly in the background. “Where are you?! The police are at the club! They just hauled your father away in handcuffs! They’re saying everything is frozen! The bank accounts, the trust, the cards—everything is declined! What did Chloe do?! WHAT DID CHLOE DO?!”
Mark slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold hardwood floor, the reality crashing down around him like a collapsing ceiling.
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He hadn't just lost his family.
He had lost everything.
