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I made my way over to my father. He was surrounded. My mother looked shaken, her brown eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“Dad—”
“Miss, I need you to back away.” The female officer in the suit held me back, her hold on my shoulders firm, her eyes calm.
“That’s my father!” I insisted. I’d been taught never to yell, and especially never to yell at my elders, but fear made it hard to control my tone and volume. “Why are you arresting him? What are you doing?”
Panic rose in my chest as my father’s eyes cut to me. Those jade green irises, the exact same shade as mine, were sharp.
“Cordelia,” he said stiffly, just shy of a snap. “Calm yourself.”
Right. People are still around. This isn’t the time for hysterics.
I looked up to the officer. “Please?” I said softly. “He’s my father.”
She gave me a look like she was trying to evaluate whether I might have some kind of concealed weapon or something—trying to decide if I was dangerous. Finally, with a sigh, she let me go. I rushed to my father, who kept his distance from the officer that’d first come in.
“This is a mistake,” Dad said again, lowering his voice without losing any of the strength in his tone. “Fraud? I’ve never committed any crime, let alone a felony fraud—”
“With all due respect, Mr. van Rensselaer, we’ve been conducting an investigation for the last year and a half.” The man’s triumphant smile made my stomach twist. “I’ve read you your rights, I would suggest you say nothing more until you’ve spoken with your lawyer—”
“Hey!” Dad’s booming voice interrupted the officer, and I jumped, my heart slamming hard against my ribs. He’d just told me not to shout, not to lose control and make a scene, but now my father was doing both, his face set in hard lines of anger… and fear. My gaze followed his, tracking over to a group of men who were making their way up the curved staircase leading to the rest of the house.
“You can’t go up there!” he thundered. “What are you doing—?”
The officer in front of us put his hand on my father’s chest.
“We have a warrant to search and seize any evidence relevant to this case,” he explained, his tone flat. My hands clenched into fists as I pressed my lips into a line. He didn’t care that this was our home his people were violating. “Including items purchased fraudulently—”
“Excuse me,” Dad interrupted. “Fraudulently purchased? This is my family home—”
“And those are the terms of the warrant.” A self-satisfied smirk curved the man’s lips again. I hated it. I didn’t know why, but his confidence made my blood run cold. “I would hate to have to add obstruction of justice to your list of offenses, sir.”
My father quieted, but I could tell he didn’t want to. He was too prideful to take being told what to do in his own home without a measure of indignation. The crowd of guests around us had thinned, but many people were still watching us, intently observing every moment of my father’s degradation.
For the first time, my mother spoke up.
“Please, surely there must be some mistake,” she said. Her usually musical voice had a slight rasp to it, as if she were pushing the sound out past closed vocal cords. “Perhaps we can settle this without all of this disruption—”
“Ma’am,” the officer interrupted, shifting his focus to her. He looked irritated, but I had the strange feeling that was an act. That he was enjoying this the way Dad enjoyed a fine, aged whiskey, savoring every moment of it. “I think I’ve made myself about as clear as I possibly can. I’ll have to ask you not to interfere, unless you’d like to be arrested along with your husband.”
My mother’s already pale skin whitened like a sheet. I forced my feet into motion and went to her, not knowing what else to do as our home was overtaken by federal agents, who marched through the halls with purposeful steps.
As the remaining party guests slipped away into the night, the agents dismantled our home.
They went into the rooms, taking things seemingly at random. After about an hour of that, our massive front foyer was filled with our belongings. Mom, Dad, and I were still gathered near the base of the stairs. Dad stood stiffly, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched his teeth in anger. Mom had her arms around me, and to any officer who glanced our way, it might look like she was comforting me—but the reality was, she was clinging to me.
I was helping her remain upright.
And still, the men in the suits didn’t stop. They gathered more and more items from upstairs, to the point that I had to wonder if they were really taking things as evidence, or if it was just to prove a point.
That they could do whatever they wanted, say it was for whatever they wanted, and we weren’t able to do a thing about it.
My father, once the most powerful man I knew, couldn’t do a single thing to stop them.
A week later, the large mansion was empty.
Empty of people. Empty of belongings.
