Chapter 6 - The Fall from Fifth Avenue
I walked slowly across the plush white rug toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse living room. My father followed close behind me, his hand resting lightly and protectively on my shoulder.
Down on Fifth Avenue, fifty stories below us, a bizarre spectacle had drawn a crowd of morning commuters and paparazzi.
In the center of the sidewalk stood Trevor.
His expensive Italian suit was now completely ruined—stained with mud from where Marcus’s men had dumped him the day before, one of his silk cuffs ripped entirely off. His hair stood up in wild tufts, and his face was twisted into a mask of frantic, manic rage.
In his hands, he clutched a jagged piece of cardboard torn from a moving box, scrawled across with black marker in shaky, frantic letters: RICHARD LAWSON IS A FRAUD. GIVE ME MY WIFE BACK.
“Rebecca!” Trevor screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing up the sheer glass canyon of the building like a wounded animal. “Rebecca, you bitch, open the window! You can’t do this to me! I made you! I gave you a family!”
Pedestrians stopped, pointing smartphones at him, whispering and recording the pathetic meltdown of a man who, less than twenty-four hours earlier, had believed he was untouchable.
A police cruiser pulled up with a screech of tires. Two NYPD officers stepped out, their hands resting on their utility belts as they approached the raving madman.
“Sir, step away from the building and put the sign down,” one officer commanded, his voice amplified by the urban acoustics.
“Do you know who I am?!” Trevor shrieked, shoving his finger in the officer's face. “I’m a corporate vice president! My father-in-law is Richard Lawson! I’ll have your badges before lunch!”
The officer didn't hesitate. Within three seconds, Trevor’s arms were wrenched behind his back, silver handcuffs snapped onto his wrists with a sharp click, and he was shoved roughly against the hood of the patrol car.
“Resisting arrest and disturbing the peace,” the officer muttered loudly enough for the crowd to hear. “Let’s take him in.”
As Trevor was shoved into the back of the squad car, his wild, frantic eyes swept upward, scanning the fifty-story wall of glass until they locked directly onto the penthouse window where I stood.
Through the thick, tinted double-paned glass, our eyes met.
I didn't cower. I didn't look away. I didn't feel a single drop of pity, or fear, or remorse.
I simply raised my right hand, ran my tongue over my newly capped front tooth, and watched as the squad car’s red and blue lights flashed against the pavement, carrying him away to a very dark, very permanent reality.
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“He’s gone, Becky,” my father whispered softly, wrapping both arms around my shoulders and pulling me back from the window. “He’s out of our lives forever.”
“I know,” I breathed, closing my eyes as a profound, unimaginable wave of peace washed over my entire body. “Let’s go check on Emma.”
