Chapter 6 - Shadows on the Horizon
While the studio on Racine Street buzzed with the energetic hum of new beginnings, a cold rain began to tap against the glass windows of a visiting room sixty miles outside the city limits.
Paxton Keswick sat in a molded plastic chair, wearing a standard-issue orange jumpsuit that hung loosely over his frame. His hair was unwashed, dark circles shadowed his bloodshot eyes, and his hands trembled as he stared across the scarred metal table at his mother.
Marabel looked older, her designer clothes replaced by subdued thrift-store wool, her hair unstyled. She looked at her son with a mixture of profound grief and lingering disbelief.
"They're tearing down the sign," Marabel whispered, her voice cracking. "The city approved the permits yesterday. Celin’s Table. That’s what they’re calling it now."
Paxton’s jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek. "It was ours. That building belonged to our family for three generations. That girl... she took everything."
"No, Paxton," Marabel said quietly, reaching across the table to press her palm against the cold metal divider, though her fingers didn't touch his. "We lost it long before she walked through those doors. We believed our name made us immune to basic human decency. We thought money bought obedience."
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Paxton looked away, staring blankly at the gray concrete wall behind his mother. For the first time in his life, there were no friends to laugh at his jokes, no waiters to bully, and no safety net of family wealth to catch his fall.
There was only the chilling echo of his own arrogance bouncing off the prison walls.
