Chapter 8 - The Fall of the Saints
At that exact moment, the grand double doors of the ballroom swung open.
Three Georgia State Patrol officers and two federal investigators from the financial crimes division marched down the center aisle, their footsteps rhythmic and purposeful. Behind them walked Evelyn Vance and me.
I walked with my head held high, my eyes locked onto the man who had tried to destroy my child.
"Mark Vale," the lead federal investigator said, stepping onto the stage and pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. "You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, embezzlement of charity funds, and the first-degree physical abuse of a minor."
Mark tried to pull away, but the officers quickly grabbed his arms, forcing them behind his back. The cold steel cuffs clicked around his wrists with a sharp, final sound that echoed through the quiet room.
"And Sarah Collins," the investigator continued, turning to my sister, who was trembling so violently she could barely stand in her emerald gown. "You are being detained as an accomplice to grand larceny and obstruction of justice."
"Elena! Please!" Sarah sobbed, reaching out her cuffed hands toward me as the officers began to drag her away. "I’m your sister! You can't do this to me! He manipulated me! It was all his idea!"
I stood in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by the wealthy elite of Savannah who had once ignored my existence. I looked at my sister, the girl I had raised, the girl I had loved.
May you like
"You said I would break, Sarah," I said, my voice carrying clearly through the silent room. "But you forgot one thing. Our mother didn't raise survivors. She raised fighters."
As they were dragged out of the grand ballroom, past the flashing cameras of the local media who had been tipped off by Evelyn, the crowd began to applaud. It wasn't the polite, plastic applause they had given Mark minutes ago; it was a roar of respect for a mother who had reclaimed her world from the ashes.
