Chapter 12 - THE DEBT PAID IN FULL
Two federal tactical vans were waiting outside St. Michael’s Cathedral when the heavy doors opened.
Assistant Director Miller, a gray-haired federal agent who had chased the Voss family for a decade, stood on the sidewalk.
He held a stack of federal arrest warrants signed by the Chief Judge of the Northern District of Illinois.
Behind him, eight armed federal agents in windbreakers watched the perimeter.
When Gideon stepped out into the morning light, he didn't look at the agents with hostility.
He handed Miller a single encrypted silver flash drive.
"Everything is on there, Director," Gideon said smoothly.
"Arthur Mercer's private shipping logs."
"Dante Sterling's money-laundering pipelines."
"And Miss Sloane Mercer's personal involvement in three counts of interstate extortion."
Miller took the flash drive, his brow furrowed with cautious disbelief.
"And what about your family, Mr. Voss?" Miller asked.
"Our legal counsel has already filed the voluntary corporate audit with the SEC," Gideon replied with a polite, razor-sharp smile.
"Blackwood Enterprises is a fully registered logistics conglomerate."
"We have nothing to hide."
Two female federal agents stepped forward and took Sloane Mercer from Beckett's grip.
They clicked cold steel handcuffs around her wrists.
Sloane was sobbing so hard she could barely walk.
Her designer shoes had been left somewhere in the burning halls of Blackwood Manor.
Her bare feet dragged against the wet pavement.
As they led her toward the rear doors of the transport van, she turned her head back.
She looked at Callum Voss standing on the cathedral steps.
"Callum!" she wailed, her voice cracking into high, pathetic shrieks.
"Tell them! Tell them you gave me the money!"
"Tell them I was your girl!"
Callum did not blink.
He did not lift a finger.
He looked at her with the cold, dead detachment of a stranger watching a stray dog being loaded into an animal control truck.
The heavy steel doors of the federal van slammed shut.
The siren wailed once, and the van sped away toward the Dirksen Federal Building.
Sloane Mercer’s reign of vanity had ended.
On the cathedral steps, only the Voss family remained.
The morning sun finally broke through the gray Chicago clouds, casting long gold beams across the wet limestone.
Callum turned toward Rosalind.
His face was drawn, hollowed out by twenty-four hours of total destruction.
He reached into his coat pocket with his uninjured hand.
He pulled out an antique brass key.
"The villa in Bellagio," Callum said, his voice barely louder than the morning breeze.
"The deeds are in the safe inside."
He held the key out toward Rosalind.
She did not reach for it.
Gideon stepped in between them, taking the key from his father's hand.
"Your flight leaves from Midway at 11:00 AM," Gideon said to his father.
"Santos is waiting at the curb with your luggage."
Callum’s eyes pleaded with his oldest son.
"Gideon... let me say goodbye to your mother."
"You said your goodbye last night at the Drake," Gideon replied coldly.
"When you hesitated for three seconds."
Callum looked at Beckett.
Beckett looked away, his eyes fixed on the distant lake.
Callum looked at Piers.
Piers was adjusting his wireless earbuds, his face blank.
Finally, Callum looked at Rosalind.
The woman he had shared thirty years of his life with.
The woman whose brother he had let die to build his own throne.
"Rosalind," Callum whispered.
"I loved you."
"In my own broken, selfish way... I loved you."
Rosalind looked at him.
Her violet bruise was clearly visible in the morning light.
She did not look angry.
She did not look sad.
She looked entirely, beautifully free.
"You loved the power I gave you, Callum," Rosalind said softly.
"Now go to Italy."
"And spend the rest of your days remembering what it felt like to be a king."
Callum Voss swallowed his last shred of pride.
He nodded once.
He turned his back on his family.
He walked down the cathedral steps alone, his shoulders hunched against the morning wind.
May you like
He climbed into the black sedan waiting at the curb.
The car pulled away into the Chicago traffic, disappearing into the city he would never rule again.
