Chapter 8 - The Raid
At the Sterling mansion, the morning silence was shattered by the deafening roar of armored vehicles tearing through the iron gates.
Julian was sitting on the floor of his study, surrounded by worthless stacks of cash.
Eleanor was curled up on the sofa, clutching a bottle of expensive gin.
The heavy oak front doors of the mansion were blown completely off their hinges.
Dozens of federal agents in heavy tactical gear swarmed into the grand foyer.
"FBI! Nobody move!" the agents screamed, their weapons raised with laser sights cutting through the dust.
Julian did not even try to run.
He simply raised his hands in the air, tears streaming down his face as he surrendered.
The agents pushed him roughly onto the silk rug, forcing his hands behind his back.
The cold steel of the handcuffs clicked loudly around his wrists, a sound that echoed through the empty halls.
Eleanor tried to stand up, swinging the gin bottle wildly at an approaching agent.
"Do not touch me!" Eleanor shrieked.
"I am Eleanor Sterling!"
"I demand to speak to the governor!"
An agent swiftly grabbed her wrist, twisting the bottle out of her hand and forcing her against the wall.
"You have the right to remain silent, Mrs. Sterling," the agent said coldly.
"Though I highly suggest you start talking if you want to survive federal prison."
They dragged the two of them out of the mansion and into the freezing morning air.
A massive crowd of news vans and reporters had already gathered outside the broken gates.
The cameras flashed blindingly, capturing every humiliating second of their downfall.
Julian looked broken, his expensive suit wrinkled and covered in dust.
He looked directly into the news cameras, knowing that the cartel was watching the broadcast.
He knew that even if he survived the trial, he would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder in terror.
Back in the butcher shop, we watched the live news feed on Arthur’s laptop.
The bold red headline read: "Sterling Elite Dynasty Collapses in Historic FBI Raid."
Clara watched her husband being shoved into the back of a federal cruiser.
There was no sadness in her eyes, only a profound sense of closure.
"It is done," Clara whispered.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
"Yes, it is done."
"Now, we go home."
Carmine lowered his shotgun and gave me a respectful nod.
May you like
Arthur closed his laptop, shutting down the dead-man switch.
The seventy-two hours were officially over.
