Chapter 7 - The Arrest of Wyatt Holbrook
At 2:45 p.m., Wyatt Holbrook was sitting in the executive lounge of his private country club, enjoying a celebratory cigar with two local judges who routinely ruled in his favor. He was laughing about how easily the police department had buried the hospital report, smugly confident that his family's shield was impenetrable.
The heavy mahogany doors of the lounge were suddenly kicked open with a thunderous crash.
Four heavily armed state troopers, accompanied by two federal marshals and Detective Miller—whose face was pale and bruised with stress—marched into the room.
"Wyatt Holbrook," the lead marshal announced, his voice echoing off the wood-paneled walls, "you are under arrest for aggravated domestic assault, attempted murder, tampering with evidence, and witness intimidation."
Wyatt stood up indignantly, his cigar dropping to the Persian rug. "Are you out of your mind? Do you know who my father is? Call my lawyer right now—"
"Your father's company is currently being raided by federal investigators, Mr. Holbrook," the marshal interrupted coldly, stepping forward and slamming steel handcuffs onto Wyatt's wrists with brutal efficiency. "And your father doesn't have the pull to save you anymore."
As Wyatt was shoved toward the exit, he caught sight of Detective Miller standing near the door. Wyatt glared at him with pure venom. "Miller! You cowardly piece of trash! I'll have your badge by morning!"
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Miller didn't even look at him. He just stared at the floor, whispering, "It's already over, Wyatt. The Phantom is back."
Wyatt was dragged out through the country club lobby in front of dozens of wealthy patrons, his custom suit wrinkled, his ego shattered into a million pieces.
