Chapter 6 - The Confiscation
The metallic clatter of splintered wood echoed through the bedroom as Arthur stepped over the ruined doorframe. His white shirt was stained with soot, and his eyes burned with a manic, desperate energy. Behind him, the two burly security guards loomed like shadows in the hallway, their broad shoulders blocking any possibility of flight.
"Well, well, well," Arthur said smoothly, tapping the iron poker rhythmically against his palm. "It seems we have a rat in the family pantry."
Martha shrank back against the bedroom wall, her frail hands trembling as she clutched her apron strings. "Mr. Arthur, please... she's just a terrified woman and a child. Let them go."
Arthur didn't even look at the elderly housekeeper. With a sudden, casual flick of his wrist, he struck Martha across the shoulder with the heavy iron poker. The sickening thud of impact was followed by a sharp cry of pain as the old woman collapsed hard against the floorboards, clutching her arm.
"Martha!" Clara screamed, dropping the burner phone and rushing forward to shield the fallen woman, while Leo began to cry loudly from the safety of the bed.
"Pick her up and lock her in the wine cellar," Arthur commanded without a shred of emotion, gesturing dismissively to the security guards.
As the guards hauled the weeping housekeeper out of the room by her arms, Arthur walked slowly toward the bed where Leo sat sobbing. He picked up the burner phone that Clara had dropped on the rug, turning the glowing plastic device over in his hand before crushing it effortlessly beneath the heel of his polished leather shoe.
"You really thought a cheap prepaid phone was going to save you, Clara?" Arthur asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "Noah built this empire on ruthless precision, and you think you can outsmart the people who actually pulled the levers behind the scenes?"
Clara stood up slowly from where she had been checking on Martha's dropped keys, her eyes locking onto her husband's with a cold, terrifying clarity. The grief and shock that had paralyzed her earlier were entirely gone, replaced by a pure, unadulterated rage.
"You didn't build this empire, Arthur," Clara said, her voice completely steady, cutting through the silence of the ruined room. "You are just a parasite feeding on a dead man's legacy. And when the truth comes out, Beatrice won't even save you from the prison cell waiting for you."
Arthur laughed, a harsh, grating sound that lacked any real humor, as he stepped closer to her, raising the iron poker slightly.
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"The truth is whatever I write on the police report tonight, my dear," Arthur whispered, his face inches from hers. "And as of midnight, you and your illegitimate son legally do not exist."
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