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Chapter 790:
Easton produced a thick stack of papers from inside his jacket and dropped them in Richard’s face. They scattered across the mud, fluttering in the wind. “Your friends are all in custody or in hiding,” he said. “Those are federal arrest warrants—money laundering, racketeering, fraud, obstruction of justice. Every one of your business partners has already turned state’s evidence against you. You have no lawyers. You have no money. You have no one. You have been erased p>
Richard stared at the warrants lying in the mud, and the last of his bravado collapsed. He scrambled forward on his knees, crawling toward June with his hands outstretched.
“Please,” he begged, tears cutting through the dirt on his face. “Please, June. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll give you everything—the company, the houses, the cars. Just let me go. Let me leave the country. I’ll never trouble you again. I swear it p>
June stepped back, her face tightening with disgust. She withdrew from his reaching hands as though they were contaminated.
“I don’t want your company,” she said quietly. “I don’t want your houses or your cars. I want your life p>
Richard looked up at her, confused. “What p>
𝘋𝘰𝘸𝗇𝘭о𝖺𝗱a𝗯𝗅𝗲 PD𝖥𝘴 о𝘯
June bent down and leaned close to his ear. Her voice dropped to something barely above a whisper—words meant only for him.
“I want the life you stole from me,” she said. “Ten years ago, you tampered with my parents’ brakes. You killed them. You thought you had gotten away with it. You thought no one would ever find out. But I found out. And now you are going to pay p>
Richard’s eyes went wide with absolute terror. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
June straightened. She raised her right hand and snapped her fingers.
The sound was sharp and clear, cutting through the fog like a gunshot.
At the sound of June’s snap, the fog was torn apart by dozens of flashing red and blue lights. Sirens blared—deafeningly loud, the sound rolling across the empty estate in waves. Ten black armored FBI vans burst from the tree line on all sides, skidding to a halt in a tight circle around the Maybach, cutting off every avenue of escape.
Thirty fully armed SWAT officers poured out of the vans, their black uniforms dissolving into the pre-dawn darkness. They moved with precise, military efficiency, assault rifles raised. Red laser dots danced across Richard’s chest and forehead, converging over his heart.
Richard let out a high-pitched, animal sound and threw himself flat on the ground, covering his head with both hands. Alycia screamed and scrambled behind the broken stone fountain, pressing her back against the cold concrete, her entire body shaking.
A tall FBI agent in a tan trench coat walked through the line of SWAT officers, his badge catching the flashing light. He stopped in front of Richard, who was still whimpering face-down in the mud.
“Richard Beasley,” he said, his voice carrying clearly over the sirens. “You are under arrest p>
Two SWAT officers seized Richard by the arms and hauled him roughly to his feet. They wrenched his arms behind his back and snapped heavy handcuffs around his wrists. The metal bit into his skin. He didn’t seem to notice. He stared straight ahead, his eyes wide and empty.