Chapter 12 - The Fall of the Patriarch
The digital switch clicked, but nothing exploded.
Willa raised her laptop from the balcony above, smiling down like an executioner. "Sorry, Grandpa! I rerouted the circuit breakers ten minutes ago. Your remote just wiped your own personal hedge fund database!"
"You ungrateful little bitch!" Orson screamed, lunging toward the balcony stairs.
I didn't let him take three steps.
I handed Juniper to Nathan, sprinted up the marble podium steps, and tackled my father across the defense table. The heavy mahogany desk flipped over with a thunderous crash, scattering forged contracts and legal briefs into the puddle of sprinkler water.
Orson fought like a cornered beast, throwing wild punches, but fifty years of corporate arrogance was no match for a father defending his child.
I pinned his arms behind his back, driving his face into the wet marble.
"It's over, Dad," I growled into his ear. "Look at your granddaughter."
Orson strained against my grip, his eyes wild with fury as he looked up.
Juniper walked slowly up the podium steps, holding Nathan's hand. She stopped right in front of Orsonâs face. She didn't cry. She didn't look afraid. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the empty, frozen inhaler Tabitha had tampered with, and dropped it onto the floor right in front of his nose.
"You're a bad man," Juniper said, her little voice cutting through the silence of the entire rotunda. "And you're not my family anymore."
May you like
The federal marshals surrounded the podium, clicking heavy steel cuffs around Orson's wrists.
"Austin Vance," the lead Marshal said, offering me a hand up. "You and your daughter are safe now."
