Chapter 6 - The Fall of the House of Watson
The raid on the Watson estate became the lead story on the local news by six o'clock that evening.
Kaleb and I sat in my Belle Meade living room, watching the television broadcast.
The news anchor stood in front of the very same Brentwood mansion where, forty-eight hours earlier, white roses had covered the tables and champagne had flowed freely. Now, yellow federal crime scene tape was stretched across the stone pillars at the entrance.
Federal agents in dark blue jackets were seen carrying boxes of files, computer towers, and sealed evidence bags out of the front doors.
"In a shocking development today," the news anchor reported, "prominent Nashville architect Scott Watson was arrested at his downtown offices on federal charges of bank fraud, money laundering, and grand larceny exceeding twelve million dollars. His wife, Kara Watson, was also taken into custody as an alleged co-conspirator after federal agents discovered offshore accounts registered under her name."
The camera cut to footage taken outside our corporate headquarters earlier that afternoon.
It showed Ashlyn Watson being placed into the back of a police cruiser. She was no longer wearing her custom cream designer gown; she was in sweatpants, her makeup smeared, her hair wild, screaming hysterically at the news cameras as they flashed in her face.
"I didn't do anything!" Ashlyn’s recorded voice shrieked from the television screen. "My dad did it! I didn't know anything about the money! Kaleb, help me! Kaleb, tell them to stop!"
Kaleb picked up the remote control and clicked the television off.
The living room fell into a quiet, peaceful darkness, lit only by the soft glow of the fireplace.
Kaleb stared into the flames for a long time.
"She didn't know where the money came from," Kaleb said softly, his voice devoid of anger, left only with a deep, reflective pity. "She just consumed it. She thought she was better than everyone else because she wore clothes bought with stolen money."
"Cruelty," I said gently, sitting down beside my son, "is almost always born from emptiness, Kaleb. People who feel truly secure in who they are do not need to humiliate others to feel tall."
Kaleb turned to look at me, taking my hand in his.
"I’m sorry you had to go through that humiliation on the lawn, Mom," he whispered.
"I wasn't humiliated, Kaleb," I smiled, squeezing his fingers. "A lion is not humiliated when a cat hisses at it. I knew who I was when I walked through those gates in thrift store clothes. The only thing that happened on that lawn was that the cat finally saw the lion."
Kaleb let out a genuine, hearty laugh—the first real laugh I had heard from him in days.
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"So," Kaleb said, leaning back against the couch. "What do we do now?"
"Now," I said, standing up and smoothing down my sweater, "we focus on the future. We have an Atlanta hub to open, a foundation to expand, and a young man named Lucas who needs to be trained as an executive."
