12.The sulfur head of the match hissed against the striker, flaring into a fragile, dancing teardrop of

The legal fallout hit the Commonwealth of Virginia like a Category 5 hurricane.

By noon, the federal courthouse in Richmond was surrounded by hundreds of reporters, television satellite trucks, and protesting citizens holding signs demanding justice for Chloe. The Harrington name, which had stood on library walls and university wings for a century, was systematically chiseled away.

In a basement holding cell beneath the courthouse, Garrett Harrington sat on a cold concrete bench, his designer clothes replaced by a bright orange polyester jumpsuit with *HENRICO COUNTY JAIL* stenciled across the back.

His jaw was swollen, his hair matted, and his hands were locked in steel belly-chains that clinked every time he shivered.

The heavy steel door buzzed, and Richard Bradley walked into the consultation cell.

Bradley didn't look like a high-powered partner anymore. He looked like an old, broken man who had spent the last eight hours dodging federal prosecutors and subpoena servers.

"Richard!" Garrett leaped to his feet, the chains clattering against his waist. "Get me out of here! Post the bail! I can't stay in this cell—there are gang members down the hall, Richard! They were shouting at me! Pay the bond!"

Bradley sat down slowly on the opposite side of the reinforced glass, not even bothering to open his leather folder.

"There is no bail, Garrett," Bradley said, his voice completely flat.

Garrett froze. "What do you mean, no bail?! I have no prior convictions! This is a domestic dispute!"

"You were indicted an hour ago on fourteen federal counts," Bradley said, ticking them off on his fingers without an ounce of sympathy left in his eyes. "Attempted capital murder. Conspiracy to commit witness tampering. Wire fraud. Bank fraud. Maritime smuggling of military-grade munitions. And human trafficking facilitation."

"That wasn't me! That was my father! That was Evelyn!"

"The feds don't care, Garrett," Bradley continued mercilessly. "Your signature is on the Nautilus Holdings offshore routing slips. Your mother tried to roll on you thirty minutes ago. She gave the U.S. Attorney a full deposition claiming you acted alone in the assault on Chloe, that you forced her to watch at gunpoint."

Garrett’s jaw dropped. A high, pathetic whine escaped his throat. "My mother... she blamed me?!"

"She offered to plead guilty to financial fraud if they dropped the attempted murder charges against her and pinned the assault entirely on you," Bradley said, shaking his head with profound disgust. "A family of vipers, Garrett. You deserve each other."

"Then you have to defend me, Richard!" Garrett slammed his chained fists against the glass. "You're our family lawyer! Julian paid you millions!"

"I resigned as Harrington corporate counsel two hours ago," Bradley said, standing up. "And ten minutes ago, the FBI served me with a target letter. I’m hiring my own criminal defense team, Garrett. Because of your greed, and your mother’s arrogance, I’m looking at five years for obstruction of justice."

"You can't leave me here!" Garrett screamed, tears and mucus running down his lip. "Richard, please! Who is going to represent me?!"

"A public defender," Bradley replied, knocking on the heavy steel door for the guard to let him out. "And if I were you, Garrett, I would take whatever plea deal they offer you. Because if this goes to a jury in Richmond, with that video of you beating your pregnant wife played on a fifty-foot projection screen... you won't leave Red Onion Supermax until they carry you out in a pine box."