Chapter 5 - The Purge of Highland Hills
Twenty-four hours later, the rain had cleared, giving way to a brilliant, pristine autumn sky over Highland Hills.
A convoy of four heavy moving trucks sat parked outside the iron gates of the Albright Estate. A team of court-appointed marshals and private security officers stood by as workers hauled trash bags full of designer clothes, luxury furniture, and expensive art out of the mansion, loading them directly into industrial shredders and dumpsters parked on the curb.
I stood on the second-floor balcony—the exact spot where Gavin had stood twenty-four hours ago—wearing a comfortable cashmeres sweater, holding a cup of steaming black coffee.
My father walked out onto the balcony, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
"Every single asset registered under Gavin and Celina’s names has been seized by the federal government to satisfy the civil judgments we filed yesterday morning," Ross reported, taking a sip from his mug. "The estate is officially back in your name, Clara."
"What about Marcus Vance and Vance Global Logistics?" I asked.
Ross smiled warmly. "When news broke yesterday that Gavin was facing life in federal prison for attempted murder, Vance Global’s stock plummeted by forty percent in after-hours trading. I spent the morning buying up their distressed shares. By noon today, The Vanguard Covenant completed a hostile takeover of Vance Global. Marcus Vance was ousted from his own board two hours ago."
I let out a soft, deep breath, feeling the heavy, suffocating weight that had rested on my shoulders for four years finally lift away into the crisp afternoon air.
A sleek black sedan pulled up outside the gates. Two bailiff officers escorted Gavin Barrett—now dressed in an orange federal inmate jumpsuit, his hands and feet chained—out of the rear seat. He was required by court order to oversee the surrender of his personal effects before being transferred to the federal penitentiary.
He looked up toward the balcony. His hair was greasy, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and he looked completely hollowed out by fear.
I walked down the grand marble staircase, out through the front doors, and stopped at the foot of the drive, ten feet away from the man who had tried to destroy my life.
"Clara..." Gavin rasped, his voice trembling as he lifted his shackled hands in a pathetic gesture of desperation. "Please... talk to your father. Tell the prosecutors to drop the attempted murder charge. I'll take a deal for the fraud! I'll do five years! Please, Clara... I know I hurt you, but we were married! You loved me!"
I looked at him—not with hatred, not with anger, but with absolute, total indifference.
"I didn't love you, Gavin," I said quietly, my voice calm and completely unshakeable. "I loved a fictional character you created to steal my father's legacy. But the character is dead, and the real you is just a weak, cowardly criminal who thought kindness was weakness."
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"Clara! Please!" he sobbed, tears smearing across his dirt-stained face as the officers grabbed his shoulders to turn him back toward the transport van. "Don't leave me like this! I have nothing left!"
"You're wrong, Gavin," I called out as the rear doors of the inmate transport van slammed shut. "You have twenty-five years to life to think about what you did."
