Chapter 8 - The Fall of Margaret
News of Brandon Prescott’s arrest sent shockwaves through the North Carolina political landscape.
By Monday morning, the board of directors of Prescott Real Estate Group held an emergency vote. Arthur Prescott was officially removed as Chairman and CEO. His personal assets were frozen pending federal indictment for wire fraud and money laundering.
Ethan Prescott was arrested at his country club residence by state police on felony charges of domestic battery, conspiracy to commit arson, and witness intimidation.
The entire empire had collapsed in less than fourteen days.
At 1500 hours that afternoon, I received a message from Elizabeth: Margaret Prescott was waiting in the private reception room of my lawyer’s office in downtown Charlotte. She had requested a meeting. Alone.
I arrived wearing a simple dark suit. No uniform. I didn't need the uniform anymore; the battle was already won.
I opened the door to the reception room.
Margaret was sitting on the leather couch. The woman who had stood in the hospital room two weeks ago—arrogant, dripping with diamonds, mocking my rank—was gone. In her place sat a broken, aging woman. Her hair was unstyled, her designer clothes looked wrinkled, and her hands shook as she held a paper cup of water.
She looked up at me as I stepped inside.
"Victoria," she rasped, her voice thin and hollow.
I sat down in the armchair across from her, folding my hands in my lap. "Mrs. Prescott."
"I came to ask... to beg," Margaret whispered, tears welling up in her red-rimmed eyes. "Brandon is facing fifteen years in state prison for what happened at your house. Ethan is looking at ten years. Arthur is facing federal charges that will keep him in prison for the rest of his life. Our bank accounts are gone. Our home is being foreclosed upon by the federal government."
I listened silently, my expression impassive.
"Please," Margaret sobbed, dropping to her knees on the rug before me, clutching at her hands. "Drop the civil claims. Tell the prosecutors that Ethan was confused... that Brandon was drunk and didn't mean to hurt anyone. We will give Emily everything she wants. She can have the penthouse. She can have the art collection. Just don't destroy my boys!"
I looked down at the woman kneeling at my feet.
I remembered the hospital room. I remembered Margaret leaning into my face, smelling of jasmine perfume, saying: "Your military rank doesn't impress us. Take your daughter home and be grateful we're not suing her."
I remembered Emily’s swollen eye, her split lip, her body shaking under that thin blanket.
"Margaret," I said, my voice quiet, steady, and devoid of malice or pity. "When you stood in that hospital room, you thought you were above the law. You thought money gave you the right to treat my daughter like a piece of property you could abuse, lock away, and discard."
"I was wrong!" she cried. "I was wrong! Please!"
"You weren't just wrong, Margaret," I said, standing up and looking down at her. "You were blind. You thought you were protecting your sons by teaching them that cruelty had no consequences. You created the monsters that destroyed your life. I didn't ruin your family. You did."
"Are you completely heartless?" she wept, looking up at me with desperate, hollow eyes.
May you like
"No," I replied, opening the door to the hallway where two state investigators were waiting. "I am a mother who protected her child. Something you should have tried doing years ago."
I walked out of the room, leaving Margaret Prescott crying on the floor of a lawyer's office, surrounded by the ruins of her self-made kingdom.
