PART 4 — THE FAMILY TRUST
The rain had stopped by 08:00 A.M., leaving the sky a pale, washed-out gray over the federal courthouse in Newark.
I sat in a high-backed leather chair inside the glass-walled conference room on the tenth floor. Across the long mahogany table sat Arthur.
He looked ruined. His pristine fleece vest was stained with coffee, his hair was uncombed, and deep blue circles shadowed his eyes. His attorney, a high-priced defense lawyer named Markowitz whom Arthur had hired three years ago to represent wealthy real estate clients, sat beside him looking thoroughly exhausted and distinctly uncomfortable.
“Clara…” Arthur began, his hands trembling as he reached across the table. “Please. You have to talk to the prosecutor. They’re talking about conspiracy to commit grand larceny, obstruction of justice, and… God, Clara, they’re talking about civil rights violations! I’m a lawyer! If I’m convicted of a felony, I lose my license!”
“You should have thought about your license before you stood by and watched your wife use a baseball bat on our mother’s arm,” I said, my voice as unyielding as iron.
“I didn’t know she was going to hit her!” Arthur cried out, his voice cracking into a desperate whine. “Brooke was angry! She was out of control! Mom came over to return some old photograph albums, and Brooke started screaming at her about the house! Mom said she was tired of Brooke using her for money, and that’s when Brooke… she just snapped!”
“And what did you do, Arthur?” I asked, leaning forward, placing my elbows on the table. “Did you step between them? Did you grab the bat? Did you call nine-one-one?”
Arthur dropped his eyes, staring down at his manicured fingernails.
“I… I panicked,” he whispered. “Brooke said… she said if we called the regular police, the press would get hold of it and ruin my firm’s reputation. She said her uncle would handle it quietly. She said Uncle Tom would just take Mom to the hospital and make sure nobody filed a report.”
“He didn’t take her to the hospital, Arthur,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “He locked her in a bathroom with a broken wrist and left her there for two hours while he worked out a story to put her in an asylum.”
“I didn’t know that part!” Arthur sobbed, tears finally breaking past his lower lashes and tracking down his pale cheeks. “I swear to God, Clara, I didn’t know Tom was going to lock her up! I thought he was taking care of it!”
Attorney Markowitz cleared his throat softly, shifting in his seat. “Colonel Carter… if I may. My client is prepared to offer full, unreserved testimony against Captain Landry and Brooke Landry-Carter. He will detail the entirety of the financial arrangements, the money laundering through the real estate firm, and the specific events of last night. In exchange, we are asking for a deferral of the felony charges and—”
“No,” I said instantly.
Markowitz blinked. “Colonel?”
“There will be no deferral,” I said, looking Markowitz dead in the eye. “Arthur will plead guilty to one count of misprision of a felony and one count of accessory after the fact to aggravated assault. He will surrender his license to practice law in this state. He will liquidate his share of the real estate firm to pay for Mom’s medical expenses, legal fees, and long-term care.”
Arthur looked up, horror painted across his features. “Clara! That… that will ruin me! I won’t have anything left!”
“You have your life, Arthur,” I said cold-bloodedly. “Which is significantly more than you left Mom with last night. If you don’t take this deal by noon today, I will personally ensure the federal prosecutor adds the racketeering charges from the safe in your basement. You will face twenty years instead of three.”
Arthur stared at me, his mouth open, searching my face for any trace of his sister—the girl who used to help him with his homework, who used to defend him from older boys at the playground.
He found nothing. Only the Colonel.
“Sign the papers, Arthur,” Markowitz whispered to him, laying a gentle hand on Arthur’s trembling shoulder. “Sign them now. She isn’t bluffing.”
Arthur’s hand shook so violently he could barely hold the pen, but he pressed the blue ink into the line on the paper.
I stood up, pulled the document toward me, and verified the signature.
“Where is Brooke?” Arthur asked, his voice dead, devoid of any remaining spirit.
“Brooke is in holding downstairs,” I said, sliding the document into my folder. “Her uncle’s ledger contained detailed notes about her involvement in transferring illegal cash through her boutique design firm. She is being charged under federal racketeering statutes. Her bail was set at two million dollars. She won’t be leaving.”
I turned toward the glass door, then stopped and looked back at my brother.
“Mom asked about you this morning,” I said quietly.
Arthur looked up, a tiny spark of hope flickering in his dull eyes. “She… she did? What did she say?”
“She asked if you had remembered to take your heart medication,” I said. “Even after everything you did… she was still worried about you.”
Arthur buried his face in his hands and began to weep, loud, dry, wracking sobs that echoed off the high glass walls of the conference room.
I walked out without looking back.
Orther Post
2:27 A.M.: THE COLONEL'S REVENGE
5
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