Chapter 5 - The Knock on the Door
By Friday evening, the initial shockwave had settled into a grim, unyielding reality for the Collins household, but the final shoe had yet to drop.
Sophie and I were sitting in my newly leased penthouse apartment overlooking the river, eating takeout pizza and watching a movie, when a sharp, frantic knocking echoed against the front door.
I checked the security monitor.
It wasn't Linda, and it wasn't Martin.
It was Claire.
She looked entirely unraveled. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot, her designer coat was half-buttoned against the freezing rain, and her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. She wasn't holding divorce papers anymore. She was holding a single, crumpled manila envelope.
I opened the door three inches, keeping the security chain securely fastened.
“Go away, Claire,” I said flatly.
“Daniel, please,” she choked out, her voice breaking as she pressed her forehead against the wooden frame. “They’re talking about indictments. The federal prosecutor’s office just subpoenaed Dad’s corporate email server. Greg is talking about fleeing the state. They’re going to arrest my father.”
“Your father committed grand larceny and corporate embezzlement for four years,” I replied, my voice steady and cold. “What did he think was going to happen when the checks stopped and the books were actually audited?”
“I didn't know!” she sobbed, sliding down the doorframe until she was kneeling on the welcome mat in the hallway. “I swear to God, Daniel, I didn't know about the shell companies or the ghost invoices. Dad kept me in the dark about the finances.”
“You knew they treated Sophie like garbage,” I said, looking down at her with zero empathy left to spare. “You watched your father lock a sixteen-year-old girl out in the snow on Christmas Eve, and you handed me divorce papers like you were executing an eviction notice. You made your choices, Claire.”
She looked up, her face streaked with tears, her expression a mix of desperate pleading and sudden, terrifying realization.
“You planned this,” she whispered, her eyes widening as the pieces finally clicked together in her mind. “You knew about the audit months ago. You let us hang ourselves.”
I didn't confirm it, but I didn't deny it either.
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“I gave you eight years of peace, Claire,” I said quietly. “You traded it for arrogance.”
Before she could speak again, the elevator dinged at the end of the hallway, and two uniformed local police officers stepped out, holding a manila folder marked with court seals, walking straight toward our door.
