Chapter 4 - The Warrant
The marshal didn't even bother waiting for Foss to finish his panicked phone call.
“Gregory White?” the marshal asked, his voice steady and official as he stepped past the corporate attorney and pushed open the courtroom doors.
Inside, my father was still sitting at the plaintiff’s table, hunched over his legal pads, his face buried in his hands. When he heard his name, he looked up, blinking against the harsh fluorescent glare.
“I’m Gregory White. What is the meaning of this?”
“Mr. White, you are being placed under arrest pursuant to a federal warrant issued by the U.S. District Court for the District of North Carolina,” the marshal stated, pulling out a folded document. “Charges include wire fraud, interstate transportation of stolen funds, and material falsification of federal tax documents.”
Gregory stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over backwards. It hit the floor with a loud, hollow crash. “This is an outrage! My lawyers are right here! Foss, tell them—tell them this is a civil property dispute over a residential deed!”
Foss backed away slowly, holding his hands up in a universal gesture of dissociation. “Mr. White, given the new disclosures presented by the defense, my firm is officially withdrawing from your representation effective immediately.”
“You’re firing me? You cowardly son of a—” Gregory lunged forward, but the second marshal—who had entered quietly through the side door—moved with practiced speed, pinning Gregory’s arms behind his back and snapping the handcuffs into place with a sharp, metallic click.
From the gallery, Lauren let out a muffled sob, covering her face with both hands as our father—the man who had ruled our home like a petty dictator, who had itemized my childhood and mocked my uniform—was hauled out of the courtroom in steel bracelets.
Judge Okafor re-entered from her chambers just as the marshals escorted Gregory past the bench. She didn't look at him as he was led away. Instead, her eyes met mine across the room.
She gave me a single, microscopic nod of professional respect.
Then she looked at the court clerk. “Court is adjourned. Captain White, please approach the bench.”
I picked up my briefcase, walked past the empty plaintiff’s table where Gregory’s immaculate stack of fraudulent exhibits now sat scattered and abandoned, and stopped at the foot of the judge’s dais.
“Captain White,” Judge Okafor said, her tone softening just enough for only the two of us to hear. “The Inspector General’s office has forwarded the preliminary asset seizure warrants for the Winston-Salem properties. Including the estate currently in dispute.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I replied evenly. “The estate was never about real estate. It was about preservation.”
May you like
“I’m aware,” the judge said, closing the red-sealed file. “Your grandmother would have been very proud of how you handled his ledger.”
---
