Chapter 4 - The Traitor's Despair
Z
The heavy wrought-iron gates of the Bel Air mansion hung lifelessly in the dark, bathed in the glaring strobe lights of three Los Angeles County Sheriff patrol vehicles. Red and blue light reflected off the pristine white stone pillars, illuminating the yellow federal law enforcement tape stretched across the massive driveway.
A yellow street taxi pulled up to the curb fifty yards away, its engine sputtering in the quiet night.
Spencer Albright practically threw himself out of the rear seat, his tie undone, his hair disheveled, and his expensive Italian leather shoes dragging through the wet grass. Cassandra stumbled out behind him, holding her ruined heels in one hand, her sequined dress soaked with road grime and sweat.
"Spencer! Spencer, wait for me!" Cassandra wailed, her voice hoarse from crying. "My feet are bleeding! Do something! Tell those cops to let us inside!"
Spencer ignored her, sprinting up the driveway until he was stopped cold by the broad chest of a tall sheriff's deputy wearing dark sunglasses despite the night air.
"Step back, sir," the deputy commanded, placing a heavy hand on Spencer’s shoulder and pushing him back two paces.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Spencer screamed, his face turning an unhealthy shade of purple. "This is my house! I own this property! My name is Spencer Albright! Get these ridiculous yellow ribbons off my gate and let me into my home!"
A man in a sharp grey suit stepped out from behind the patrol cars, holding a thick leather clipboard. It was Arthur Vance, the chief legal counsel for Crawford Global Financial.
"Correction, Mr. Albright," Arthur said smoothly, stepping into the glaring police lights. "You used to own this property. As of 5:00 PM today, the deed to this estate was seized by the federal government under the Emergency Asset Forfeiture Act, following the discovery of multi-million-dollar wire fraud originating from your corporate accounts."
"That's a lie!" Spencer shrieked, his voice cracking hysterically. "Gwen did this! That lying bitch did something to my accounts! She stole my money!"
"Mrs. Gwen Crawford did not steal anything, Mr. Albright," Arthur replied, his voice chillingly professional. "She simply released the legal records of your financial activities over the past six years. Records that prove you diverted over eighteen million dollars from employee pension funds into offshore bank accounts in the Cayman Islands to finance your lavish lifestyle and purchase luxury vehicles for Miss Vance."
Cassandra froze, her wide, tear-filled eyes darting between Arthur and Spencer. "What? Spencer... what is he talking about? You said those cars were bought with your tech dividends!"
"Shut up, Cassandra!" Spencer roared, turning on her with terrifying fury. "Shut your useless mouth!"
"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" Cassandra screamed back, her panic turning into vicious rage. "You told me you were worth hundreds of millions! You told me you were going to throw Gwen out on the street and make me the mistress of this house! You useless, broke loser!"
"I spent millions on you!" Spencer yelled, taking a step toward her with his fist clenched. "You drained my accounts! You demanded designer bags, private jets, luxury vacations! You ruined my life!"
"Enough," the deputy shouted, stepping between them with his hand resting heavily on his holster. "Keep your distance, both of you."
At that moment, a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb, and the rear door opened. Patricia Albright stepped out, looking like a ghost of her former self. Her pristine hair was wild, her costly diamond necklace was missing—pawned hours ago to pay off her immediate debts—and her face was pale with utter horror.
"Spencer..." Patricia sobbed, shuffling toward her son on unsteady legs. "Spencer, my darling, what is happening? The country club... they threw me out! They took my membership card and cut it up in front of everyone! They said our family is bankrupt!"
"Mother..." Spencer whimpered, his terrifying rage instantly deflating into pathetic desperation. "Mother, they froze everything. The bank accounts, the investments, the house... everything."
"Where is Gwen?!" Patricia demanded, her hands shaking violently as she grabbed Spencer’s lapels. "Where is that ungrateful little brat?! Tell her to fix this! Tell her to call her father and stop this madness! We let her live under our roof! We fed her! We gave her a home!"
"She isn't coming back, Mother," Spencer said, his eyes hollow as he stared at the federal seals on his front door. "She was never a charity case. Her father is Samuel Crawford."
Patricia gasped, her breath catching in her throat as if she had been hit by an invisible brick wall. "S-Samuel... Crawford? The global financier?"
"Yes," Spencer whispered, tears finally streaming down his bruised, exhausted face. "She holds the keys to everything we ever owned. And she destroyed us in an afternoon."
Before Patricia could process the news, three black SUVs pulled up behind the patrol cars with heavy, ominous hums. Six federal agents in dark blue jackets bearing the crisp yellow letters "FBI" stepped out, marching with terrifying purpose toward the driveway.
The lead agent, a stern woman with a steel badge clipped to her belt, pulled a rolled document from her jacket.
"Spencer Albright?" the agent called out sharply.
Spencer stood frozen, unable to move, unable to speak.
"Spencer Albright, you are under arrest by order of the United States District Court for the Central District of California," the lead agent announced, her voice echoing down the silent street. "You are charged with federal wire fraud, tax evasion, corporate embezzlement, and conspiracy."
"No!" Patricia shrieked, throwing her body over Spencer. "No! You can't take my son! He didn't do anything wrong! It was that girl! It was Gwen!"
"Ma'am, step aside immediately or you will be arrested for obstruction of justice," another agent warned, firmly grabbing Patricia’s arm and pulling her away.
Spencer didn't fight. He didn't scream. As the heavy steel handcuffs clicked cold and tight around his wrists, he turned his head slowly, looking back at the dark, grand mansion he had been so proud of only twelve hours ago.
He remembered Gwen kneeling on the marble floor, wiping blood from little Hazel’s lips while he adjusted his expensive cufflinks and mocked her poverty. He remembered laughing at her warnings, confident in his own unshakeable supremacy.
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"Gwen..." Spencer whispered into the cold night air, as the agents pushed his head down and shoved him into the back seat of the black SUV.
Beside the road, Cassandra stood entirely alone in her dirt-stained dress, watching the red tail lights of the FBI vehicles fade into the dark, realizing that the empire she had tried so desperately to steal was nothing more than an empty grave.
