Chapter 8 - The Desperate Begging
I stared at my son—the boy I had built an empire for, the boy I had dreamed of handing my legacy to. Looking at him now, I felt no anger. I felt only a profound, hollow disappointment.
"Your mother doesn't want to see you, Michael," I said softly. "Her knee is severely sprained. Her shoulder is deeply contorted. But the physical injuries are nothing compared to the fact that every time she closes her eyes, she sees her son watching her get beaten and doing nothing."
"Dad, please!" Michael dropped from the chair onto his knees, scrambling across the carpet toward my desk, clutching at the edge of the wood. "I’m your son! Your only child! You can't throw me away for one mistake!"
"It wasn't a mistake, Michael," I said, stepping back from the desk so he couldn't touch me. "A mistake is forgetting a birthday or choosing the wrong investment. What you did was a display of utter moral bankruptcy. You believed that because Ellen was gentle, she was disposable."
The phone on my desk chimed. I pressed the speaker button.
"Mr. Whitaker," my secretary’s voice came through the speaker. "Detective Miller from the Philadelphia Police Department is on line two. He says the forensic medical report for Mrs. Whitaker has been finalized."
Michael froze on the floor, his eyes widening in pure horror. "Police? Dad... you called the police?"
"I didn't call them on Saturday because I wanted to dismantle your illusions first," I said, picking up the receiver. "Now, the legal process begins."
"Dad! No! Please!" Michael shrieked, scrambling to his feet, trying to reach for the phone. "A felony record will ruin me! I’ll never work in finance again! I’ll go to prison!"
I pointed a single, unyielding finger toward the door. "Get out of my office, Michael. Before I have security drag you out in handcuffs."
"You're a monster!" Michael screamed, his grief instantly morphing into furious, desperate rage. "You're destroying your own family over a stupid altercation! Mom would never have wanted this! You're doing this for your own ego!"
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"My wife spent two days hiding in her room, shivering under a blanket, afraid to tell her husband the truth because she didn't want to ruin your night," I said, my voice dropping into a register so dark it made Michael step back in fear. "I am not doing this for my ego, Michael. I am doing this so that for the rest of your miserable life, you remember what happens when you lay a hand on my wife."
Security guards entered the office a second later, grabbing Michael by his arms and marching him out as he screamed cursing threats down the hallway.
