Chapter 11 - Linda’s Descent
Back in Wayne, the Bennett household was unspooling into a slow-motion catastrophe.
The turkey that had sat raw in the refrigerator on Christmas Eve was now beginning to turn grey behind the glass door, emitting a faint, sour stench that Linda couldn't bring herself to clean up.
She sat at the kitchen island, staring at a stack of unopened mail that had arrived over the last three days.
Utility shutoff notices.
A default warning on the country club equity membership.
A certified letter from the township regarding unpaid property taxes on the Meadowbrook Lane property.
“Richard,” Linda called out, her voice thin and frail, like an old woman’s. “Richard, the water company says they’re turning off the main tomorrow morning if we don't pay eight hundred dollars.”
From the study down the hall, there was no reply.
Only the repetitive, rhythmic sound of Richard pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor, his heavy wingtips squeaking against the wax.
Linda walked down the hallway, her steps dragging. She pushed the heavy oak door open.
The study was in a state of complete devastation. Blueprints were torn and scattered across the Oriental rug. Books on Pennsylvania municipal zoning were stacked haphazardly on the chairs. Richard stood by the French windows, his hair wild, his eyes bloodshot, clutching a glass of scotch at ten o'clock in the morning.
“We have to sell the Audi,” Linda said quietly.
Richard didn't turn around. “The Audi is leased in the firm’s name, Linda. If we break the lease, the bank seizes the remaining balance immediately.”
“Then sell your watches!” Linda cried, her voice rising into a shrill shriek. “Sell the Rolex! Sell the Patek Philippe you bought yourself for your sixtieth birthday! We have seventy dollars in the checking account, Richard! Seventy dollars! The grocery store card was declined yesterday when I tried to buy milk!”
Richard spun around, his face dark with fury. “Do you think I have seventy dollars to spare on your milk? Do you know what the Radnor project was worth to us? That was a four-hundred-thousand-dollar management fee upon permit approval! That fee was supposed to cover the mortgage, the car leases, and Evan’s legal retainers!”
“And where is the permit?” Linda demanded, stepping into the room, her hands balled into fists. “Where is it, Richard?”
“It’s in Rome!” Richard screamed, throwing his glass against the stone fireplace.
The crystal shattered into a thousand glittering shards, amber liquor splashing against the soot-stained hearth.
“She took the seal!” Richard gasped, clutching his chest, his breath coming in shallow, wheezing bursts. “She sent a formal notification to the licensing board claiming that I coerced her into signing previous drafts! The board has initiated a criminal investigation into Bennett & Associates for corporate identity fraud!”
Linda’s knees gave out. She sank onto the edge of the leather sofa, her face grey.
“Criminal investigation?” she whispered. “Prison? Richard… you told me everything was legal! You told me it was standard industry practice for senior partners to use junior draftsmen’s work!”
“It *is* standard practice!” Richard snarled, pacing again like a caged wolf. “When the junior draftsman doesn't run away to Europe like a selfish little bitch! She knew what she was doing! She planned this! She waited until Christmas Eve, waited until the firm’s quarterly filings were locked, and then pulled the pin on the grenade!”
The front doorbell rang.
A sharp, demanding chime that echoed through the empty house.
Linda looked up, hope instantly flickering across her exhausted face. “Evan? Or… or maybe Claire? Maybe she came home? Maybe she realized—”
“Shut up,” Richard growled, walking out into the foyer.
He pulled the heavy door open, bracing himself to deliver an explosive lecture to whoever stood on his porch.
It was not Claire.
It was not Evan.
Standing on the front steps were two men in dark, unbranded parkas, accompanied by a sheriff’s deputy in uniform.
“Richard Bennett?” the man in the center asked, holding up a leather badge wallet.
Richard’s throat closed up. “Yes?”
“I’m Special Agent Davis with the Pennsylvania Office of the Attorney General, Financial Crimes Division,” the man said, pulling a folded legal document from his inside pocket. “We have a warrant to seize all digital servers, hard drives, and project records associated with Bennett & Associates LLC.”
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Behind the agents, two unmarked white vans pulled into the driveway, their tires crunching over the frozen gravel.
***