Chapter 13: The Knock at the Door
Arthur poured himself a glass of expensive scotch, the crystal decanter clinking against the rim of his glass. He took a long, triumphant sip, savoring the burn of the alcohol. The wire transfer was complete. The crushing weight of his fifteen-million-dollar debt had vanished with a few keystrokes.
"We should celebrate," Arthur said, turning to Beatrice, who was reclining on the plush velvet sofa, scrolling through her phone. "Dinner at Canlis tonight? My treat, now that our... liquidity issue is resolved."
Beatrice didn't look up. "Don't get cocky, Arthur. We still have to play the grieving, supportive family members for the next few months until Harry officially steps down. Once he retires to take care of his crippled wife, we can start restructuring the board."
Before Arthur could reply, a sharp, authoritative pounding echoed through the penthouse. It wasn't the polite chime of the concierge bell; it was the heavy, demanding knock of a fist against the solid oak door.
Arthur frowned, setting his glass on the counter. "Were you expecting someone?"
"No," Beatrice said, finally looking up, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. "Just get it. And tell whoever it is to use the intercom downstairs like a civilized person."
Arthur walked to the door and pulled it open, a reprimand already forming on his lips. The words died in his throat.
Standing in the hallway were six armed officers wearing dark tactical vests with FBI emblazoned across the front, flanked by two uniformed detectives from the Seattle Police Department.
"Arthur Sterling?" the lead FBI agent asked. It wasn't a question; it was a demand.
"Yes?" Arthur squeaked, the blood draining from his face so fast he felt dizzy.
"Arthur Sterling, you are under arrest for wire fraud, corporate embezzlement, and money laundering," the agent stated, stepping into the penthouse and forcefully grabbing Arthur’s arm, spinning him around to cuff his wrists. "You have the right to remain silent..."
"Wait! No! There's been a mistake!" Arthur screamed, thrashing against the agent's grip as the cold steel of the handcuffs snapped tightly around his wrists. "I am the acting director of the Sterling Foundation! I had authorization!"
"The authorization was a trap, Arthur," a deep voice echoed from the hallway.
Harry walked slowly into the penthouse, his hands resting casually in his pockets. He was no longer the broken, disheveled man from the office. His suit was impeccable, his posture rigid, and his silver hair perfectly styled. The cold, unyielding power of the Sterling patriarch had fully returned.
"Harry? What is this?" Beatrice demanded, standing up from the sofa. She tried to maintain her mask of indignation, but her hands were trembling. "Have you lost your mind? You gave him that paperwork!"
"I gave him a rope, Beatrice," Harry said smoothly, his eyes locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. "And he hung himself with it. The bank flagged the transfer immediately. The money never left Seattle."
"You set me up!" Arthur cried out, tears of panic welling in his eyes as an agent patted him down. "You can't do this!"
"Take him out," the SPD detective ordered, and Arthur was dragged, sobbing and protesting, out of his own home.
Harry remained in the living room, staring down Beatrice. The FBI agents began fanning out, securing computers and files.
"You think you're so clever, Harry," Beatrice spat, dropping the act completely. Her face contorted into an ugly, hateful sneer. "You set up a trap for a financial crime. Big deal. Arthur has expensive lawyers. He'll claim he was confused by the paperwork. He'll be out on bail by midnight."
"He might be," Harry agreed, taking a slow step toward her. "But you won't be."
The SPD detective stepped forward, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. "Beatrice Sterling, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Chloe Sterling."
Beatrice froze, her haughty facade finally cracking. "You have no proof."
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"I have the security footage you thought you deleted, recovered from a localized backup server," Harry lied smoothly, knowing Frank only had the audio and Chloe's testimony. But the bluff worked. Beatrice's eyes widened in sheer panic. "And I have the audio recording from Arthur’s office. You shouldn't talk so loudly about pushing pregnant women down stairs, Beatrice. It's terribly uncouth."
Beatrice opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. For the first time in her life, she was utterly trapped. As the detective cuffed her and read her Miranda rights, Harry turned his back on her, walking out of the penthouse without a second glance. The garbage was finally being taken out.
