Chapter 6 - The Reckoning
Arthur froze. His breath hitched in his throat as his dead wife’s voice began to echo from the high-fidelity outdoor speakers, carrying across the entire manicured lawn of the Vance Estate.
"It’s October 14th... Arthur brought me my tea again tonight... He’s letting me fade away... He wants me gone so he can marry Eleanor without a messy divorce..."
A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the crowd of two hundred socialites.
Arthur lunged for the door, but Harrison Vance was already there. The heavy oak doors swung open, and the silver-haired patriarch stepped into the library, his face a mask of absolute, murderous fury. Behind him stood Eleanor, her eyes wide with shock, her hands trembling against her white wedding dress.
"What is the meaning of this?" Harrison roared, his voice shaking the room.
"Harrison, it’s a lie!" Arthur screamed, his composure completely shattering. He pointed a shaking finger at me. "It’s a fabrication! This bitter old man is trying to extort me! He’s using AI, he’s using fake audio to ruin my wedding because he wants my money!"
"Are the bank transfers AI, too, Arthur?" I asked calmly, stepping aside so Marcus could project the financial records onto the screen.
The screen shifted, displaying the exact transaction records from Rose’s family trust directly into A&E Enterprises. Bold red text highlighted the dates, matching perfectly with the payments Arthur had made to buy his way into Harrison Vance’s development project.
"He didn't bring any capital to your business, Mr. Vance," Marcus announced clearly. "He stole it from his dying wife’s estate. And he did it while actively preventing her from receiving life-saving medical care."
Eleanor let out a sharp, choked sob, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared at the screen. "Arthur... is this... is this true?"
"Eleanor, darling, no! You know me!" Arthur pleaded, reaching out to her. "I love you! I did everything for us!"
"Don't touch her," Harrison Vance snarled, stepping between Arthur and his daughter. The old mogul’s eyes were cold as ice. He looked at the financial documents on the screen, his sharp business mind instantly verifying the validity of the bank routing numbers and corporate filings.
"You used my daughter," Harrison said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You brought stolen, blood-soaked money into my company. You lied to my face, and you desecrated the memory of your own wife."
"Harrison, please—"
Before Arthur could finish, the library doors opened again. This time, it wasn't guests. Three Savannah police detectives stepped into the room, led by a female officer I had contacted the night before, presenting her with the digital forensic evidence of Arthur’s medical portal tampering.
"Arthur Pendelton?" the lead detective asked.
Arthur stepped back, his back hitting the mahogany bookshelf. "I... I have a lawyer! Sterling, do something!"
Sterling, looking at the overwhelming evidence and the furious face of Harrison Vance—who could easily destroy his legal career with a single phone call—slowly stepped away from Arthur.
"I am no longer representing Mr. Pendelton," Sterling said quietly, adjusting his tie.
"Arthur Pendelton, you are under arrest for grand larceny, financial exploitation of a vulnerable adult, and criminally negligent homicide," the detective declared, stepping forward and pulling a pair of handcuffs from her belt.
Arthur looked around the room like a trapped animal. His eyes landed on his daughters.
"You did this," he hissed, staring at twelve-year-old Lucy. "You ruined my life! You ungrateful little—"
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"Get him out of my sight," Harrison Vance ordered the police, his voice booming.
The detectives grabbed Arthur’s arms, forcing them behind his back. The handcuffs clicked into place with a sharp, metallic finality. As they dragged him out through the French doors, the entire crowd of two hundred guests watched in stunned, absolute silence. Arthur Pendelton, the brilliant, rising star of Savannah real estate, was led away in a ruined tuxedo, his face pale, his legacy shattered, and his future reduced to a cold prison cell.
