“I invoked the forfeiture clause two hours ago, nephew. You don’t own Kensington Commercial. You don’t own the trucks. You don’t own the Stone Harbor villa. You own nothing.”
Garrison lunged forward, slamming his fists onto the table, his face mottling with purple, rabid fury. “You senile old bastard! You’re destroying our family for a ditch-digger’s widow?! Kensington was doing forty million a year! I built those political relationships! I bought the state inspectors!”
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“We know you bought them, Garrison,” Special Agent Marcus Vance spoke up, stepping around the table, pulling a pair of heavy, blued-steel handcuffs from his tactical coat with a sharp, mechanical *CLINK*.
“We pulled the wiretaps from your private server in King of Prussia three hours ago,” Agent Vance said. “We have the audio recordings of you ordering the safety backfill removed from the Conestoga River bridge project in 2022 to pocket twelve thousand dollars for your boat slip. We have the emails where you instructed your corporate attorneys to fraudulently bankrupt Thomas Miller’s estate.”
