Chapter 8 - The Dragon's Wrath
At two o'clock that afternoon, a private convoy of four black Suburbans arrived at the industrial marine docks on Lake Ray Hubbard.
The cold Texas wind whipped across the dark, churning water, whistling through the rusted corrugated steel of the private warehouse.
Inside the climate-controlled facility, Vivienne and Bradley Thorne sat chained to heavy steel chairs beneath the harsh glare of industrial spotlights.
They had been granted a temporary ninety-minute administrative transfer under federal protective custody to allow the unsealing of their foreign holdings.
I walked into the warehouse, flanked by Luca and Elena Hayes, who carried a portable biometric terminal.
Vivienne looked up, shivering in her torn dress, her teeth chattering from the damp chill of the lake air.
“Marcus… what is this place?” she wheezed, her voice stripped of every shred of arrogance.
“This is the exact spot where Julian’s car broke through the ice three months ago, Vivienne,” I answered calmly.
I set a heavy leather briefcase on the steel table between them, opening the lid to reveal their seized foreign banking passports and credit accounts.
“Every account in Nassau, Zurich, and Panama has been permanently frozen under international restitution decrees,” Elena announced.
“Every diamond, every fur, every piece of real estate, and every vehicle purchased with Vance funds has been seized by the federal receivership.”
I walked over to Vivienne, reaching down with a gloved hand and unclasping the three-carat diamond choker from her neck.
The platinum necklace slipped from her throat, clattering onto the metal table like a broken chain.
“This belonged to Julian’s mother,” I said softly, looking at the sparkling stones.
“You were never worthy of wearing our family’s name, and you will never touch another dollar of our heritage.”
Vivienne began to sob hysterically, burying her face in her shackled hands.
“I am sorry, Marcus… please, tell the judge I cooperated! I don't want to die in a federal prison!”
“You should have thought about dying in a cage while Noah was scratching ninety marks into that concrete wall,” I replied with unyielding ice.
May you like
“Take them to the federal processing facility in downtown Dallas,” I instructed the federal marshals waiting by the door.
“Let them spend the rest of their lives staring at the walls of a cell, remembering what they stole from two innocent children.”
