Chapter 22
Far across the city, in a rundown, freezing motel room that smelled of cheap bleach and stale cigarettes, Robert sat on the edge of a sagging mattress. He clutched his smartphone, his rosy skin now an ashen, sickly gray. The television in the corner was broadcasting the local news on a continuous loop. "Breaking News," the anchor announced, her voice piercing the silence. "Former Sterling Industries executive Silas Sterling has been apprehended following a violent shootout in the financial district. Authorities confirm the ambush was a targeted attack on Apex Holdings CEO, Bennett Sterling." The crystal glass Robert had been holding slipped from his fingers, shattering on the cheap linoleum floor—a pathetic echo of the glass he had dropped in his grand living room just days ago. Clara sat in the corner, her face buried in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. "He's gone, Dad. Silas is going to prison. You pushed him to do this! You made him think we could fight back!" "I didn't tell him to hire mercenaries!" Robert roared, though his voice cracked with frail, terrified desperation. "I told him to find leverage! I told him to fix it!" "There is no fixing this!" Clara screamed, standing up and grabbing her thin coat. "Bennett won. He took the company, he took our homes, and now he has Silas. I'm leaving, Dad. I'm going to beg Bennett for mercy on my own." Robert watched his daughter walk out the door, abandoning him to the ruins of his own making.
