Chapter 8
Margaret collapsed onto the floorboards where her son had just been pinned, weeping hysterically, her expensive pearls scattering across the wood as she tore at her own collar.
“Take her into custody as well, Agent,” Arthur instructed, not sparing the weeping woman a second glance. “Book her on conspiracy and obstruction of justice.”
The female agent stepped forward, gently but firmly pulling Margaret to her feet and securing her hands in plastic zip-ties before leading her out the front door.
The violent chaos that had filled the house for the past hour suddenly subsided into a strange, ringing silence. The bright kitchen lights still illuminated the polished marble island, the broken wine glass, and the small smear of blood on the floor where Sarah had fallen.
The two paramedics lifted Sarah’s stretcher, carefully guiding the wheels over the threshold and out onto the broad front porch.
The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the clean scent of damp pine needles and distant rain. In the circular driveway, multiple black government SUVs sat with their emergency lights flashing silently against the manicured hedges of the estate. A crowd of wealthy neighbors had begun to gather at the edge of the property line, whispering among themselves in shock as they watched David Bennett being shoved into the back of an armored transport vehicle.
A black town car sat idling near the bottom of the porch steps. As the stretcher rolled down the ramp, the rear door opened, and Elena stepped out, holding Emma in her arms.
The four-year-old girl was wrapped in a thick wool blanket, her little rosy face clean of tears, holding a warm cup of cocoa. The moment she saw Sarah on the stretcher, her eyes lit up with relief.
“Mommy!” Emma called out, squirming to be put down.
“Let her come,” Sarah told the paramedics softly.
Elena gently set the little girl onto her feet, and Emma ran across the damp asphalt, burying her face into the side of Sarah’s blanket-covered torso.
“Mommy, does your leg still hurt?” Emma asked, her large, innocent eyes looking up into Sarah’s face.
Sarah reached out, her fingers tangling gently in her daughter’s soft hair, brushing a stray tear from the little girl’s rosy cheek. “It hurts a little bit, baby. But the doctors are going to fix it. We’re safe now. The wolf is gone.”
Emma looked toward the transport vehicle where David’s muffled screams were still faintly audible through the reinforced glass. “Is Daddy ever coming back?”
Sarah glanced up at Arthur, who stood at the foot of the stretcher, his towering silhouette framed by the flashing blue and red emergency lights.
“No, sweetheart,” Sarah said, her voice steady and full of fierce conviction. “He’s never coming back. We’re going to a brand new home where nobody can ever hurt us again.”
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Emma nestled her head against Sarah’s arm, letting out a small, contented sigh. “With Grandpa?”
Arthur smiled, a rare, genuine warmth breaking across his stoic features as he reached out and patted the little girl’s head. “Yes, little one. With Grandpa. For as long as you live.”
