Chapter 8 - The Handcuffs at Dawn
Four uniformed officers from the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department, accompanied by two lead detectives from the District Attorney’s Financial Crimes Unit, walked into the boardroom.
The lead detective, Detective Miller, pulled a stack of signed arrest warrants from his coat pocket.
“Victoria Frost, Brittany Frost, and Austin Miller?” Detective Miller announced, his voice echoing off the glass walls.
Victoria backed away toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, her hands shaking uncontrollably. “What is the meaning of this?! Do you know who I am?!”
“Victoria Frost, you are under arrest for corporate forgery, conspiracy to commit wire fraud, and grand larceny,” Detective Miller stated coldly. “Brittany Frost, you are under arrest as a co-conspirator to corporate fraud and felony extortion.”
Two officers stepped forward, pulling steel handcuffs from their belts.
“Dad!” Austin screamed, scrambling out of his chair and throwing himself onto his knees on the carpet near my feet. “Dad, please! Tell them to stop! I’m your son! Don't let them take me to jail! I was manipulated! Brittany made me do it!”
I looked down at the thirty-two-year-old man weeping on the floor.
I remembered holding him when he was a toddler. I remembered teaching him how to throw a baseball in our backyard. I remembered thirty years of making excuses for his laziness, his entitlement, and his cruelty.
“You made your choice, Austin,” I said, my voice quiet, hollow, and absolute. “You chose to stand by a woman who threw your mother into a pond. You chose to sign away my life’s work. You are thirty-two years old, and it’s time you learned that actions have consequences.”
An officer stepped up behind Austin, forced his arms behind his back, and clicked the cold steel cuffs tightly around his wrists.
Brittany shrieked and thrashed as the second female officer handcuffed her, her expensive cream suit rumpling, her hair falling into her face as she cursed at me, at Austin, and at the police.
“You old bastard!” Brittany screamed as she was dragged toward the exit doors. “You ruined my life! I hope you rot in hell!”
“I’m not rotting in hell, Brittany,” I called out calmly as the doors swung shut behind her. “I’m going home to my wife.”
Charles Frost stood alone near the mahogany table, looking like a hollowed-out ghost. He hadn't been named in the primary forgery warrant, as he had been kept in the dark by his wife and daughter regarding the illegal trust transfer, but his reputation, his family, and his life were completely destroyed.
He looked at me with hollow, defeated eyes, picked up his yellow legal pad, and walked out of the room without saying a single word.
May you like
I stood alone in the quiet boardroom with Sarah Jenkins and Marcus Vance. The heavy rain outside had finally stopped, allowing a beam of pale afternoon sunlight to break through the clouds and illuminate the long mahogany table.
I took a long, deep breath. The crushing weight that had sat on my chest for months was finally gone.
