Chapter 12 - Room 104Robert jumped as a heavy, rhythmic knocking rattled the flimsy wooden door of Room 104.
Helen gasped, clutching her coat tighter. "Is it the press? Oh God, if the press sees us here..."
Robert swallowed hard, slowly approaching the door. He peered through the scratched peephole. His breath hitched in his throat. He stumbled backward, his face turning an even paler shade of gray.
"Who is it?" Helen whispered frantically.
Before Robert could answer, the door swung open. The cheap lock splintered instantly under the force of Thomas’s boot.
Thomas stepped into the dingy room, looking completely out of place in his immaculately tailored suit. Marcus stood right behind him, holding a sleek leather folder. Two massive security guards flanked the doorway, ensuring no one could leave.
"Thomas," Robert choked out, backing up against the dresser. "You've taken everything. What more could you possibly want? Come to gloat? Come to watch us suffer?"
Thomas slowly surveyed the room—the stained carpet, the buzzing neon light, the utter squalor. "Actually, Robert, I don't care about your suffering. I'm here for Sarah."
Helen let out a bitter, choked laugh. "Sarah? You're hiding behind my dead daughter now? You destroyed her family!"
Thomas held out his hand. Marcus placed the leather folder into it. Thomas tossed it onto the sagging bed, right at Helen’s feet.
"Open it," Thomas commanded, his voice lethal.
Helen hesitated, then reached down with trembling fingers. She flipped the folder open. Staring back at her was the enlarged scan of the Renunciation of Inheritance document, next to a blown-up image of Sarah’s real signature. In bold red ink at the top of the page were the words: FEDERAL FRAUD INVESTIGATION - EXHIBIT A.
Helen let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-scream. She dropped the folder as if it burned her.
Robert’s knees finally gave out. He collapsed onto the floor, staring at the scattered papers. "How... how did you find that?"
"You kept the evidence in a safe in the office I just bought," Thomas said, stepping closer, towering over the broken man. "You forged my wife’s signature. You stole eighty million dollars from your own daughter. You stole her grandmother's house. You stole her legacy."
"Tommy, please," Robert begged, tears streaming down his face, his hands clasped together in prayer. "We were desperate! The company was failing! Eleanor was a cruel old woman to leave us with nothing! We had to do it for the family name!"
"You did it for your ego," Thomas snarled, abandoning his calm facade for the first time. He grabbed Robert by the lapels of his wrinkled coat and hauled him to his feet. "You watched my wife cry over medical bills. You watched us scrape by to buy groceries. And you sat in your mansion, drinking thousand-dollar wine paid for with her money, judging us for being poor!"
"We'll give it back!" Helen shrieked, falling to her knees. "We'll sign the Hamptons house over to the kids! We'll give you everything!"
Thomas shoved Robert back against the dresser in disgust. "You have nothing left to give, Helen. I already took it all."
"Then what do you want?!" Robert sobbed.
Thomas adjusted his cuffs, his composure instantly returning. "I want you to hear the sirens."
Right on cue, the distant wail of police sirens began to echo down 9th Street, rapidly growing louder. Flashing red and blue lights began to dance across the peeling wallpaper of the motel room.
Robert and Helen froze in sheer, unadulterated terror.
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"The FBI and the local police have surrounded the building," Thomas said smoothly. "Enjoy federal prison, Robert. I hear the food is almost as bad as the catering at your birthday party."
Thomas turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door wide open for the authorities.
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