Part 3
The next forty-eight hours passed with absolute tactical precision. I didn’t just want my property back; I wanted my mother and brother to suffer the greatest legal and personal devastation possible. I handed over the body camera footage, forged LLC documents, and the FBI accountant’s preliminary findings to a relentless federal prosecutor specializing in organized crime. Since Eric had used our business to move illicit funds, the feds intervened without hesitation. But I longed for the intense personal satisfaction of seeing his empire crumble before my own eyes.
I invited Eleanor and Eric to a “reconciliation” dinner at an elegant meat restaurant in the center. I told them that I had recovered the safe and that I wanted to hand over the key to them, officially withdrawing from the business to focus on Sarah’s “recovery.” Greeds overcame their caution. They arrived impeccably dressed, practically salivating at the idea of finally closing their unfinished business.
I ordered the most expensive wine on the menu and raised my glass glass. “For the family,” I said, with a bitter taste in his mouth.
h.
“For the family,” Eleanor smiled, her eyes shining with a predatory and disgusting triumph.
As we toasted, I slipped a heavy envelope of manila paper over the white tablecloth. Eric opened it impatiently, waiting for the brass key. Instead, a stack of high-resolution photographs was scattered. They were close-ups of Sarah’s battered ribs, her bruised collarbone, and a medical report detailing the severity of her physical trauma. Below those photos was a copy of a federal court order indicting Eric, along with a court order freezing the LLC’s bank accounts.
Eric’s face completely paled. He looked like a man who had just stepped on a landmine. Eleanor’s smile of sufficiency disappeared, replaced by pure and absolute panic.
“What’s this, Jack?” he sesiated, nervously looking around at the dimly lit restaurant.
