Chapter 15 - The Ambush at Paradise Valley
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When the state troopers and I arrived back at the Paradise Valley mansion to execute the arrest warrants, the front doors were unlocked.
The smell of gasoline hit us the moment we crossed the marble foyer.
“Clear the house!” the lead trooper shouted, drawing his sidearm.
I sprinted down the hallway toward the study, ignoring the trooper’s order to stay back. Inside, Carla was frantically dumping gallons of lighter fluid over my father’s desk and the filing cabinets, holding a silver Zippo lighter in her trembling hand.
Margaret sat in the leather armchair behind the desk, holding a glass of scotch, looking completely hollowed out.
“Carla! Put it down!” I yelled, stopping at the doorway.
Carla turned around, her eyes wide and bloodshot, her expensive clothes stained with fuel.
“It’s all gone anyway, Marcus!” Carla screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria. “Victor fled to Mexico an hour ago! The feds froze the Zurich accounts! We have nothing left!”
“Put the lighter down, Carla,” I repeated, taking a slow, deliberate step into the room. “You’ve done enough damage to this family.”
“Family?” Margaret suddenly spoke from the armchair, her voice raspy and devoid of emotion. She didn't even look at me. “There was no family left after your father decided to play the martyr, Marcus. We did what we had to do to survive Victor.”
“You helped him kill Dad!” I roared, my voice shaking the glass windows. “You sold his life for offshore accounts!”
Carla flicked the lighter. A small yellow flame flickered in the dim room.
“I won’t go to prison, Marcus,” Carla wept. “I won’t.”
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Before she could drop the flame onto the gasoline-soaked rug, two troopers tackled her to the floor, disarming her in a brief, frantic struggle. The lighter rolled harmlessly across the tile.
Margaret didn't even move from her chair as the officers pulled her hands behind her back and snapped metal cuffs around her wrists. She simply looked at me, her eyes empty, as they led her away into the rain.
