Chapter 8 - The Slamming Gates
"Victoria!" Eleanor screamed, lunging toward the bronze doors before two armed security guards stepped firmly in front of her. "Victoria, look at me! You can't do this to us! You're a monster!"
"Victoria, please!" Richard cried, being pulled back by his arms. "Have mercy! Just ten thousand dollars! Just give us enough to get a motel!"
The guards escorted them firmly past the marble columns, guiding them down the long asphalt driveway toward the street.
I stood behind the two-story bulletproof glass window of my second-floor library, holding a warm porcelain cup of Earl Grey tea.
Through the glass, I watched as Richard and Eleanor were led through the tall iron gates. The heavy wrought-iron doors swung closed with a deep, echoing thud, the magnetic locks engaging with a definitive, mechanical click.
Outside the bars, Eleanor threw herself against the iron railings, shaking them with her fists and screaming curses into the rain. Richard slumped against the concrete pillar, clutching the white index card in his grimy hand, looking down at the street where a city bus was approaching the corner stop.
They had nothing left. Their hidden gold had already been seized by federal marshals that morning, their son was awaiting a federal prison sentence, and the daughter they had discarded had closed the door forever.
May you like
I took a slow, calm sip of tea, watching the city bus pull up, swallow them into its gray interior, and drive away down the avenue.
The ghost that had haunted my thirteenth birthday had finally been laid to rest.
