Chapter 10 - The Fall of the House of Mercer
The moment those words left my mouth, heavy footsteps echoed from the private elevator hallway behind them.
Six men in dark suits stepped into the penthouse, flanked by four armed federal marshals and two uniformed NYPD officers. At their lead walked Marcus, holding a thick stack of legal documents, followed by my father, Sterling Hartwell.
Thaddius spun around, his eyes wild with terror. "Who the hell are you?!"
Sterling walked right up to Thaddius, standing tall and imposing, his presence filling the entire room.
"I am Sterling Hartwell," my father declared, his voice booming like judgment day. "And you, Mr. Mercer, are a pathetic, parasite fraud who mistook my daughter's kindness for weakness."
The lead federal marshal stepped forward, pulling a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his belt.
"Thaddius Mercer," the marshal announced loudly, reading from an arrest warrant. "You are under arrest by order of the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York. Charges include attempted second-degree murder, reckless endangerment, wire fraud, grand embezzlement, and corporate identity theft."
"No!" Thaddius screamed, thrashing as two marshals grabbed his arms and slammed him face-first against the wall. "No! This is my penthouse! I am the CEO of Mercer Trading!"
"You own nothing, Mr. Mercer," Arthur Vance spoke up from near the doorway, stepping forward with a calm smile. "Mercer Trading Group was fully reclaimed by Vanguard Legacy Holdings three weeks ago. Your corporate proxy was revoked. Your bank accounts are frozen. Your personal assets are seized under federal forfeiture liens."
"What?!" Genevieve shrieked. "What about my clothes?! What about my bags?!"
"All luxury items purchased using embezzled corporate funds over the last seventy-four days have been classified as stolen property," Marcus informed her coldly. "Federal agents are currently impounding your luggage downstairs in the car."
"No! You can't do this!" Clarice sobbed, crawling toward me across the floor, clutching at the hem of my white gown. "Seraphina! Please! We’re family! Have mercy! I’m an old woman!"
I looked down at Clarice. The woman who had laughed as her son left me to die in a dark room was now groveling at my feet, her face covered in smeared makeup, her pearl necklace tangled around her neck.
I slowly pulled the hem of my dress out of her grasp.
"Mercy, Clarice?" I asked quietly. "Did you show me mercy when you complained about the noise of my illness? Did you show me mercy when you took my phone so I couldn't call an ambulance?"
Clarice wept hysterically, burying her face in her hands.
The marshals clicked the steel cuffs around Thaddius’s wrists. He looked back over his shoulder at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic plea.
"Seraphina... please," Thaddius begged, his voice cracking. "I loved you! I was confused! I was scared of your illness! Please... don't do this to me!"
I walked over to him, standing just inches away. I reached out and gently straightened the collar of his expensive European travel jacket—the exact same gesture he had made before sweeping my medication into the trash three months ago.
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"You smiled when you left me in the dark, Thaddius," I whispered softly into his ear. "Now... enjoy the darkness."
The marshals dragged Thaddius, screaming and cursing, out of the penthouse, followed by NYPD officers escorting Clarice and Genevieve, who were crying so loudly their shrieks echoed down the elevator shaft.
