David jumped. “Yes?”
“This is the Chief Justice of the United States, William Thorne.”
David froze. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He stared at the phone as if it had turned into a grenade.
Every lawyer in America knew the name William Thorne. He was the lion of the court. The man who terrified the senators. The man whose opinions shaped the very essence of the nation.
“Justice… Thorne?” David shrieked. “But… Anna said…”
“You touched my daughter,” my father continued, his voice low and vibrating with a rage so powerful it seemed it could pierce the wire and strangle David. “You hurt my granddaughter.”
“It was an accident!” David cried, panicking. “She fell! I’m a lawyer, I know…”
“You’re nothing!” my father roared. “You’re a speck of dust in my shoe! Listen to me, you son of a bitch.” Don’t move. Don’t touch her again. Don’t even breathe too heavily.
“I…I…”
“I’ve activated the U.S. Marshals Service Emergency Response Team,” my father said. “They’re two minutes away from her location. They have orders to secure the asset. That asset is my daughter.”
“Marshals?” David looked out the window. “They can’t do that! It’s a domestic dispute!”
“This is an attack on the family of a Protected Federal Official,” my father said.
Pray to whatever god you believe in, David. Pray she’s alive when they arrive. Because if not, I’ll skin you alive myself.
The line cut out.
David dropped the phone. It fell to the floor next to me with a clang.
He looked at me in pure terror. He looked at Sylvia, who was as pale as a sheet.
“Is your father… the Chief Justice?” “David whispered.
I smiled. My teeth were stained with blood from biting my lip.
“I told you, David,” I whispered. “You don’t know who wrote the laws.”
Chapter 5: The Verdict
Two minutes later, the house shook.
It wasn’t a bang. It was a crack.
The front door exploded
or inward with a deafening crash. Stun grenades exploded in the hallway, filling the house with blinding light and a deafening roar.
“FEDERAL AGENTS! GET DOWN!”
Sylvia screamed and ducked under the table. Mark ran to the pantry.
David stood in the middle of the kitchen, his hands raised, shaking violently.
Six men in full tactical gear stormed into the kitchen. They carried assault rifles and wore vests emblazoned with “US MARSHAL.”
“Frontal contact!” one of them yelled.
“Get down! Now!”
An agent tackled David. He punched him hard, slamming his face against the bloody tiles right next to me. David screamed as they twisted his arm behind his back.
“Don’t shoot! I’m a lawyer!” David yelled.
“Shut up!” the officer yelled, tying his hands together with zip ties.
Another officer, a medic, knelt beside me.
Ms. Thorne? I’m Officer Carter. We’ll get you out of here.
“The baby…” I cried.
We have an ambulance at the entrance. Stay with me.
They put me on a stretcher. As they wheeled me out, I walked past David. He was pressed to the ground, his cheek in the pool of my blood. He looked at me with pleading eyes.
“Anna! Tell him! Tell him it was a mistake! We’re married! They can’t arrest me!”
I looked at him. The man I had loved. The man who had destroyed our future.
“Officer,” I said to the officer holding David.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I want to press charges,” I said clearly. “Aggravated assault. False imprisonment. And… murder.”
“No!” “Anna!” David shouted.
“And I want a divorce,” I added.
They dragged me out into the cold night. The street was blocked by black SUVs with flashing red and blue lights. A helicopter circled overhead, its spotlight illuminating the house like a crime scene.
Sylvia was being dragged away in handcuffs, still in her festive velvet dress, now torn to shreds. She was screaming for her rights.
They put me in the ambulance.
A black city car screeched to a halt right next to the ambulance. The back door swung open.
My father got out.
He was wearing a trench coat over his pajamas. He looked older than I remembered, but his gaze was fierce.
“Ana!”
He rushed to the stretcher. He grabbed my hand. Tears streamed down his face, the face that used to terrify politicians.
“Dad,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I left.”
“Hush,” he kissed my forehead. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
He turned to the acting marshal.
“General,” my father said.
“Yes, Mr. Chief Justice?”
“That man inside,” my father gestured toward the house, “will be in federal custody. No bail. He’s a flight risk. He’s a danger to society. I’ll sign the order myself.”
“Understood, sir.”
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