Chapter 5 - The Fall of Sterling
The raid on Gibson Island was swift, ruthless, and absolute.
Federal agents, backed by the Maryland State Police, swarmed the estate. Tobias and I had submitted our digital evidence cache to the United States Attorney's Office three hours before stepping onto the island. The flash drive didn't just contain proof of attempted murder; it contained the complete forensic paper trail of a twenty-year racketeering enterprise operated by Arthur Vance, Donald Vance, and Garrett Vance.
I stood on the front terrace wrapped in a dry jacket provided by an FBI agent, watching as Garrett was led down the marble steps in steel handcuffs.
His expensive suit was ruined, his hair matted with sweat and rain. When he saw me standing near the railing, he pulled against the agent holding him, shouting wildly:
"Rosalind! Please! Look at me! We can fix this! I'll give you everything back! I'll testify against my father! Just don't let them take me!"
I looked at him with complete detachment. The man I had loved for three years was gone—or rather, he had never existed at all. He was merely a empty shell built out of greed and malice.
"You have the right to remain silent, Garrett," I said softly as the agents shoved him into the back of an armored transport van. "I suggest you use it."
Beside him, Penelope was being escorted toward a separate police cruiser, weeping hysterically, her hands cuffed in front of her body to accommodate her pregnancy.
She caught my eye as she passed. "Rosalind... I'm your sister... please... think of the baby..."
"That baby deserves a better mother than a woman who helped try to drown her own sister," I said, turning my back on her as the car door slammed shut.
Arthur Vance was wheeled out on a gurney, hooked to an oxygen tank, his face pale and lifeless as federal prosecutors served him with a thirty-count federal indictment including racketeering, corporate espionage, wire fraud, and two counts of attempted first-degree capital murder.
Tobias walked up beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder. He was dressed in a clean jacket, standing tall against the wind blowing off the bay.
May you like
"It's over, Rosalind," he said softly.
"No," I replied, looking toward the dark waters of the Chesapeake where our family's dockyards sat waiting for us. "The fight is over. Now we rebuild."
