"well," she said, oblivious, "good thing we're getting away. we'll have so much fun. I mean i kept suggesting going there for quite some time? it took your father to convince you."
"Sure."
The car rolled to a stop at the private airstrip. The jet was already waiting. My whole body was vibrating now, nerves and dread and cold fury. We stepped out of the car. I could see my father ahead, checking his watch, already impatient.
Then everything happened at once.
Sirens. Tires screeching. Helicopter blades slicing through the sky. Dozens of officers in plain clothes and uniforms swarming out from nowhere—like they'd risen out of the pavement itself. Guns drawn. Voices yelling.
Laura flinched, stepping toward me on instinct. I moved away without thinking.
The police chief stepped forward, nodding at me. "Thank you, Thomas. We've got it from here."
"Thomas! James! What is going on?" Laura shrieked, heels clacking unevenly against the marble as she rushed toward us, her voice rising with each syllable. "What the hell is this?!"
My father turned slowly, like a beast interrupted mid-feast. His eyes locked onto mine—cold, calculating, murderous. Even now, even in handcuffs, he radiated a terrifying stillness. But I didn't flinch.
"What is this?" he hissed, venom lining every syllable.
I stepped forward. "Can we have a moment with them, please?" I asked the officers.
One of the agents glanced at his partner, then nodded. "Make it quick."
I turned to face him—no more fear, no more shrinking. My voice was steady, sharper than I'd ever let it be with him before. "It's over, Father. You're done." He blinked, stunned, as if the words couldn't possibly be real. I stepped closer, each word deliberate. "Mom and I have been collecting evidence, building a case against you both for weeks. Emails, financial records, voice recordings. Every lie, every manipulation, every transaction you thought you buried—we've got it. And the authorities do too."
His expression twisted with incredulous disgust, like he'd just tasted something foul. "Your mother?" he spat. "That useless woman?"
Before I could reply, a sudden stillness cut through the air. Mom stepped forward from the shadows like judgment incarnate, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that sounded like a countdown. She carried herself like a blade—sharp, precise, and deadly. Her gaze was cool, cutting through the room with the calm fury of a storm just before it breaks.
She stopped a few feet from him, eyes burning with quiet rage. "Useless?" she repeated, her voice low, dangerous.
She took a single step closer.
"You would have been nothing without me," she said, every syllable crisp and deliberate. "I handled your messes. I swallowed your lies. I held our family together with trembling hands while you destroyed it piece by piece."
She paused, letting her words sink in. His mouth opened like he wanted to interrupt, but she cut him off with a glare so sharp it could've split stone.
"Useless?" Her laugh was bitter. "Darling, I was the reason anyone ever tolerated you. I made your cruelty palatable, your recklessness survivable. And now? Now you're just an aging coward with delusions of grandeur and no one left to clean up after you."
He flinched, barely—but it was there. Jeanine leaned in, her voice a whisper soaked in steel. "So enjoy prison, you arrogant idiot. Because for the first time in your life, you'll have no one to lie to, cheat on, or belittle. Just you and the rotting echo of what you could've been."