Chapter 9 - The Fall of the House of Sullivan
The private medical transport touched down on the tarmac at John C. Tune Airport just as the sun began dipping below the rolling hills of west Nashville, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and orange. We didn't go back to the grand estate in Belle Meade. That house—with its polished marble floors, sleek modern orchids, and the echoes of Tiffany’s calculated betrayals—was dead to me. Instead, my security detail secured a private, high-security safehouse overlooking the Cumberland River, outfitted with encrypted comms and guarded by men who answered only to my direct command.
Megan and Hazel were settled into a quiet, sunlit recovery room on the second floor, surrounded by medical equipment provided by a top-tier pediatric team I had flown in from Atlanta. Mason and Bryce—the two rambunctious eight-month-old boys I had seen on the highway—were safely asleep in the adjoining nursery, their little blond tufts of hair glowing softly in the dim night-light.
I stood on the glass-enclosed balcony overlooking the river, watching the lights of downtown Nashville shimmer across the water, when my phone buzzed. It was Russell Cole.
“It’s done, Garrett,” Russell’s voice came through the speaker, sounding breathless and jittery. “I dropped the complete digital ledger—including the bank receipts for Tiffany’s shell companies, the doctored hotel invoices, and Walter’s signed confession regarding the planted sapphire necklace—directly onto the desk of the federal prosecutor in downtown Nashville. By morning, federal warrants will be issued for corporate fraud and obstruction of justice.”
“And Walter?” I asked, my voice cold.
“Walter packed his bags an hour ago. Tried to cross the state line into Kentucky. My guys picked him up at a gas station off I-65. He’s sitting in a secure holding room downtown waiting for you.”
“Keep him there,” I said, hanging up without another word.
An hour later, I walked into the austere basement interrogation room of an unmarked commercial warehouse near the riverfront. Walter Briggs was sitting at a metal table under the harsh glare of a single overhead bulb. He looked smaller now, stripped of his charcoal blazer and the dignified air of a patriarch’s right-hand man.
He didn't look up as I pulled out the opposite chair and sat down.
“Twenty-six years, Walter,” I said, leaning forward, resting my forearms on the cold metal. “My father gave you a home, a salary, and respect. And you sold me out to a woman who wanted nothing more than to pillage my family’s legacy.”
Walter finally raised his head, his gray eyes tired, resignation etched deep into every wrinkle of his face. “Tiffany promised stability, Mr. Garrett. She understood how modern corporations operate. Megan… Megan was too pure for the kind of empire you were trying to build. We thought we were protecting the brand.”
“You weren't protecting anything,” I said softly. “You were building a cage out of lies, and you locked my children inside it. But the cage is broken now, Walter.”
I stood up, turning my back on him. As I reached the heavy steel door, I paused.
May you like
“You’ll spend the rest of your natural life answering to federal judges for what you did to my wife and children. Enjoy the rest of your service, Walter.”
TITLE: The Glass Alibi
