I pretended to fly to Canada after suspecting the housekeeper was doing something terrible to my daughters whenever I was away. Instead, I secretly returned home and turned on the hidden cameras….007

Editoron

CHAPTER 7: THE RECKONING IN S-412

Chief Justice Arthur Sterling-Vance let out an un-human, animalistic shriek from the bottom of his lungs.

The seventy-six-year-old titan of American law did not look like a statesman now.

He lunged across the granite table, his black silk robe tearing at the shoulder seams, his manicured hands hooked into claws aimed directly at my face:

“YOU ARROGANT FOOL! I AM THE CHIEF JUSTICE! I AM THE MASTER OF THIS CAPITOL!”

CLACK.

Two SOG tactical operators did not draw their sidearms.

The two-hundred-and-twenty-pound tactical operators stepped forward in synchronized, terrifying mechanical precision:

Their gloved hands caught Chief Justice Arthur Vance by his midnight-blue lapels, spun his six-foot-three frame ninety degrees against the black granite table, and drove his face down onto the stone with three hundred pounds of linear kinetic leverage:

SLAM.

His cheek struck the granite, the broken pieces of his gold pen snapping beneath his chest, his bespoke silk tie soaked in the spilled coffee:

SNAP-SNAP.

A pair of heavy-duty, double-locking, high-security stainless-steel military transport restraints ratcheted around the wrists of the Chief Justice of the United States with two sharp, definitive snaps that sounded like twin rifle shots across the silent bunker:

SNAP.

A second set of chains clamped around his ankles—the identical stainless-steel irons used for capital traitors at the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth.

Beside him, the four corporate defense raiders and two Swiss bankers scrambled away from the table in an undignified, petrified stampede, backing against the greenstone walls with their hands held over their chests, their faces bleached of all color, abandoning their encrypted tablets in a desperate scramble to clear their names from the corporate records:

CRASH-ROAR-PANT.

Arthur Vance did not look back.

His head hung limp against the granite, tears and hair wax dripping from his chin onto his torn collar, weeping with the wet, pathetic, sniveling sobs of an emperor whose forty-year kingdom had just been melted down into scrap iron before the cameras of the world:

“Alexander…” Arthur wept into the stone, his blood pooling around his split lower lip:

“Alexander, please! Think of the Vance family name! Think of the Court! We built this country together! You can’t let them take the Chief Justice to a military prison in chains!”

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“One day my little daughter told me, ‘Mom, every time Grandpa gives me a bath, he asks me to play a game. I have to close my eyes, and while they’re closed, he does something…’ I froze. The next day, I opened the bathroom door without warning… and what I saw made my legs start shaking My daughter, Emily, was six years old when she first said the sentence that kept me awake almost the entire night. That afternoon, we were in the kitchen. I was making dinner while she sat at the table drawing. Then, without even looking up, she said, “Mom, did you know Grandpa and I have a game?” I smiled. My father, George, was seventy-six years old, and he and Emily were almost inseparable. He picked her up from school, read her stories, and taught her how to plant flowers in the garden. “What kind of game?” I asked. Emily thought for a moment. “When Grandpa gives me a bath, he tells me to close my eyes.” The knife in my hand stopped. I turned toward her. “Why?” She shrugged. “So we can play.” Okay?” She looked at me, confused. “But Grandpa doesn’t do anything bad.” That sentence should have reassured me. It didn’t. That night, I barely slept. My father had always been the person I trusted most. Whenever my husband had to work late, Dad came over to help me. Whenever Emily was sick, he could sit beside her for hours. I had never seen anything that made me suspicious of him. But now my mind had taken one sentence and built a hundred frightening possibilities around it. The next morning, I started remembering little things that had never seemed important before. A few weeks earlier, Dad had told me, “You’re busy. I’ll get Emily ready for bed.” Another time, the bathroom door had been closed. When I knocked, I heard both of them laughing. Back then, I had smiled. Now the same memory felt completely different. All day, I kept telling myself I was overreacting. But something in me refused to let it go. The next evening, Dad came over again. After dinner, Emily ran up to him. “Grandpa, are we going to play our game today?” I looked at my father. He smiled. “If your mom doesn’t mind.” “Of course,” I said. But I had already made up my mind. Ten minutes later, I heard the water running. Then Emily laughing. I slowly walked toward the bathroom. The door was closed, but not locked. I stepped close enough to hear them. Dad said, far from every terrible thing my mind had imagined that I just stood there for a few seconds.  Emily was sitting safely in the tub, surrounded by bubbles and bath toys. Her eyes were closed. My father was holding a small cup in one hand, using it to rinse her hair, while in the other hand he held one of Emily’s rubber ducks. “Mom,” Emily laughed, “you ruined the game!” I looked at them, confused. “What game?” Dad slowly smiled. “Guess the sound.” It turned out that a few months earlier, Emily had started being afraid of having her hair washed because shampoo had once gotten into her eyes. Every bath had become stressful. My father didn’t want that fear to get worse. So he invented a game. Emily would close her eyes, and Dad would make sounds using different bath toys—the rubber duck, a little cup, a water bottle. While she tried to guess which toy was making the sound, he carefully rinsed the shampoo from her hair.  Every time she guessed correctly, she earned one “star.” After ten stars, Grandpa urm took her out for ice cream. I stood in the doorway, feeling tears fill my eyes. Dad looked at me. He understood immediately. “You were scared, weren’t you?” I couldn’t lie. “Yes.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You did the right thing by checking.” I looked at him in surprise. He continued, “A mother should always make sure her child is safe. I should have explained our game to you sooner.” Emily opened her eyes. “Mom, I told you Grandpa urm wasn’t doing anything bad.” I walked over and kissed her forehead. That evening, when Dad was getting ready to leave, he stopped by the door and said quietly, “By the way, this game isn’t new.”  “What do you mean?” He smiled. “You were afraid of having your hair washed too. When you were five, I played the same game with you.” I froze. Then suddenly, I remembered. Closed eyes.