Chapter 16 - The Federal Handshake
The lead agent did not walk with the swagger of a small-town cop. He moved with the measured, terrifying economy of someone whose warrants did not require local permission.
"Charles Hayes?" the agent said, stopping three feet from our table.
Charles tried to summon forty years of high-society condescension, puffing his chest out. "Who wants to know? If you are disturbing my private family breakfast, I demand to speak to your supervisor. I am a lifelong member of this establishment—"
"I’m Special Agent Miller, Federal Bureau of Investigation, White Collar and Financial Crimes Division," the man said, showing a gold credential case. "And this is Agent Cross, Naval Criminal Investigative Service."
The word *NCIS* hit the table like an artillery shell.
Savannah let out a choked shriek and buried her face in her hands. Derek Higgins slowly pulled his hands off the table, holding them palms out as if he were trying to dissociate his physical body from the space he occupied.
"We have a federal warrant for your arrest, Mr. Hayes," Agent Miller said calmly. "Along with a warrant for Mr. Derek Higgins, regarding bank fraud, aggravated identity theft, and conspiracy to defraud an active-duty member of the armed forces under the Servicemembers Civil Relief Act."
"This is a mistake!" Charles barked, his face turning an apoplectic purple. He pointed a trembling, manicured finger at me. "She authorized it! She gave me power of attorney! She's my daughter! Ask her! Evelyn, tell them! Tell them this was a family misunderstanding!"
I stood entirely still, looking at the man who had abandoned my mother to die, who had drained over one hundred and ten thousand dollars of my combat pay, who had invited his socialite friends into my home to toast the theft of my legacy while I was serving my country in deep water.
"I have never given you power of attorney, Charles," I said, my voice echoing across the silent dining room. "I never gave you permission to use my name, my credit, or my home. You made your choice when you cut the wire on my fence."
"You traitorous little bitch!" Charles lunged forward, his hands clawing across the white linen.
Before his fingers could even graze my sleeve, Agent Cross and the Douglas County deputy had Charles by the wrists. With an efficiency born of a thousand arrests, they pivoted him, slammed his chest flat against the edge of the dining table, and wrenched his arms behind his back.
The heavy click of steel handcuffs echoed through the Edgewood dining room, sharp as a gunshot.
Silverware clattered to the carpet. Savannah was openly weeping now, hyperventilating into her napkin. Derek was already being handcuffed by Agent Miller, his expensive Italian jacket rumpled as he was read his Miranda rights in a flat, monotone voice.
Charles looked back over his shoulder, his aristocratic silver hair disheveled, spit flying from his lips. "You won't survive this, Evelyn! You think you won? You think you get the house? You don't know what’s coming! You don't know who owns that land!"
"Take them out," Agent Miller said coldly.
As they dragged Charles past the tables of horrified socialites and country club members, he didn't look like an influential patriarch anymore. He looked like an old, ruined thief whose masks had all been stripped away at once.
Sarah Vance quietly snapped her briefcase shut.
"Well," Sarah said, picking up her leather gloves. "That certainly clears up the balloon payment."
"Not entirely," I said, watching Charles being shoved into the back of an unmarked black SUV through the glass doors. "Did you hear what he said at the end?"
Sarah paused, her brow furrowing. "'You don't know who owns that land.' He was bluffing, Evelyn. Narcissists always claim they have a secret trump card when they're dragged out in irons."
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"Charles is a narcissist," I agreed, watching the flashing red and blue lights pulse against the pine trees. "But he’s also a coward. And cowards don't brag about secret owners unless someone bigger than them was pulling the strings."
***
