Chapter 5 - The Desperate Plea
I stood alongside my father behind the one-way bulletproof glass of the security gatehouse, watching the monitor screen.
Outside the massive iron gates, Brandon looked like a shell of his former self. His expensive designer suit was rumpled, stained, and unwashed. His hair was a disheveled mess, dark circles hung under his bloodshot eyes, and his hands were trembling uncontrollably. He had no car, no entourage, and no pride left.
"Let him speak through the intercom," I told the security officer.
The guard pressed a button. "State your business, Mr. Hayes."
Brandon lunged toward the intercom speaker on the gate pillar, his voice crackling through the gatehouse monitor in pathetic desperation.
"Clara! Clara, I know you’re in there! Please, hear me out!" Brandon cried, his voice hoarse and breaking. "I was wrong! I got the official DNA test results emailed to me by the lab this morning! Leo is my son! He’s really my son!"
I clicked the microphone button, my voice cold and unyielding. "I already knew he was your son, Brandon. I never needed a paper to prove my fidelity. You were the one who let your paranoia and hatred ruin everything."
"Clara, please!" Brandon wept openly, falling to his knees on the gravel outside the gate. "They took everything! My bank accounts are gone, my cars were repossessed, my company is bankrupt, and my landlord locked me out of my apartment! I’m staying in a cheap motel using borrowed cash from my brother! The media is calling me a criminal!"
"You are a criminal, Brandon," I replied sharply. "The federal government didn't fabricate those fraudulent records in your company files. You did that all on your own. My father simply took off the blanket that was protecting you."
"I’m sorry! I’ll do anything!" Brandon begged, slapping his hands against the iron bars. "I’ll go to therapy! I’ll apologize on live television! Just ask your father to call off the federal prosecutors! Give me my family back! Give me my daughters!"
My father stepped up to the microphone, his voice cutting through the speaker like an icy blade.
"Listen to me carefully, Brandon," Dad said slowly. "You didn't just insult my daughter; you physically assaulted her while she was holding a newborn child. You threatened to throw her and my children onto the streets. You built your entire life on arrogance, deceit, and cruelty."
"General Vance, please! I didn't know who you were!" Brandon pleaded hysterically.
"That is precisely your flaw," my father answered coldly. "You only treat people with respect when you think they have power over you. You treated my daughter like trash because you thought she had no one to defend her. You were wrong."
"Please! Don't ruin my life!"
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"You ruined your own life," I interjected firmly. "My lawyer will be delivering the final divorce papers to your public defender tomorrow. You will have no access to my children until a court deems you mentally fit—which won't be anytime soon. Good luck in federal court, Brandon."
My father signaled to the guard, who cut the intercom connection. On the monitor, we watched as security personnel escorted Brandon away from the property as he screamed uncontrollably into the empty street.
