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Chapter 514
Chapter 514:
“According to New York State Penal Law,” he announced, his voice ringing with the absolute authority of a man delivering a verdict, “the theft of property valued in excess of fifty thousand dollars constitutes Grand Larceny in the Second Degree. A Class C felony p>
He took one measured step closer to the couple.
“Furthermore, the intentional killing of a companion animal valued over one thousand dollars constitutes Aggravated Cruelty to Animals. An E felony p>
He looked directly into Richard’s horrified eyes.
𝖳𝗵𝘰𝘶𝗌𝘢ո𝗱𝗌 оf 𝗿𝖾𝘢𝖽ers o𝗇 𝗴alոo𝗏е𝘭ѕ.cо𝘮
“Consecutive sentencing,” Easton murmured. “You are looking at a maximum of twenty-five years. You are going to grow old in a cage, Richard p>
Richard’s legs gave out completely. He collapsed against the cruiser, sobbing without restraint.
Susan made a sound that did not belong to a human being — a guttural, agonizing shriek of pure despair. The full shape of the trap she had walked into finally became clear to her. This was no accident. It was a perfectly engineered, inescapable legal slaughterhouse, built around them one document at a time.
The officers shoved the weeping, broken couple into the backs of the cruisers. The doors slammed shut, sealing their fate.
The heavy doors of the police cruiser slammed shut, cutting off Susan Beasley’s hysterical screaming.
Through the thick, tinted glass of the rear window, Susan pressed her face against the pane. Her makeup was smeared in dark streaks down her cheeks, her expression contorted with primal, absolute terror. She slammed her handcuffed wrists against the glass, her mouth moving frantically.
Even through the soundproofing, June could read her lips perfectly.
June! Please! Save us!
June stood on the sidewalk, the heavy Burberry coat wrapped tight around her shoulders. The cold wind whipped her hair across her face. She did not blink. She stared at the desperate, pleading faces of the people who had tortured her — who had stolen her peace, who had laughed at her pain.
She felt nothing. Not pity. Not hesitation.
She remembered the blood on the dining room floor. She remembered the agonizing emptiness in her body after she lost her child.
Slowly, deliberately, June turned her back on the police car.
It was a silent, absolute execution.
The sirens wailed as the cruisers pulled from the curb and merged into the heavy Manhattan traffic, carrying the Beasleys toward their destruction.
Easton stepped up beside her. He said nothing. He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to the passenger side of his black Porsche Panamera. He opened the door, waited until she was settled, then walked around to the driver’s side.
He got in and pulled the door shut. The heavy thud instantly sealed out the noise of the city, wrapping the interior in thick, insulated silence.
June stared straight ahead through the windshield. The heater clicked on, pushing warm air over her freezing hands.
She sat quietly for a long moment, her mind moving rapidly through the events of the last ten minutes — the flawless execution, the impossible documentation, the precision of it all.
She turned her head slowly and studied Easton’s sharp, handsome profile.
“A half-million-dollar rabbit,” June said. Her voice was quiet, but precise as a scalpel. “That is quite a coincidence, Easton p>