Advertisement
Marcus Vance grabbed Garrison by the upper arm, twisting the younger man’s wrist behind his camel-hair coat with brutal, professional leverage.
*SNAP-CLICK.*
The steel cuffs ratcheted around Garrison Vance’s wrists with a clean, brutal finality that echoed through the high-ceilinged room like a rifle shot.
“Garrison Vance,” Agent Vance recited, hauling the weeping, swearing executive toward the front entrance. “You are under arrest for federal involuntary manslaughter, interstate corporate wire fraud, and grand racketeering under Title 18.”
Garrison sobbed hysterically as he was marched through the front door, his expensive Italian loafers slipping on the icy flagstones, past his three corporate attorneys who had already turned their backs, clutching their briefcases in terrified silence as they retreated to their cars.
Advertisement
The heavy oak door closed.
The great hall went dead quiet once more, save for the cheerful crackle of the hickory fire and the rhythmic, unhurried ticking of the grandfather clock.
