Chapter Twenty-Eight
LUKE
Isaw the cars before I even turned into the drive. Three dark SUVs sat in front of the house, engines still running beneath the glow of the exterior lights. Their placement blocked half the circular drive, forcing me to slow the moment I pulled in.
Government plates. I gripped the steering wheel hard. Adriana had been talking to the feds. I’d known the moment she stepped forward that something inside King Enterprises would start collapsing.
I stepped out of the SUV and moved toward the entrance, hockey bag still slung over my shoulder. The pavement muffled my footsteps as I approached the steps.
The front door stood open. Voices carried out into the night air. Something serious was unfolding.
Two men in dark suits stood just inside the foyer. Federal agents. Their posture was immediately recognizable—calm, unhurried, completely uninterested in the fact that they were standing inside one of the most powerful homes in Blackwood.
I slowed before crossing the threshold and stepped inside. Lorne’s voice carried the cold confidence of someone used to controlling every room he entered.
The foyer had become the center of the storm. Dad stood near the base of the staircase, shoulders squared, his features tight with anger.
Mom stayed out of the way a few feet behind him beside the marble console table, perfectly composed despite the tension gathering in the room.
Across from them, the agents held their ground with quiet authority.
Lorne stood between them, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence filling the foyer in a way that made the room feel smaller.
His custom-tailored suit tried to civilize the brutal edge in him, but it never quite succeeded.
“This is completely unacceptable,” he argued as I stepped farther into the room.
“You do not simply walk into a private residence and begin making accusations without evidence.”
The lead agent didn’t raise his voice. “We’re executing a warrant.” He held the document in one hand. The words carried across the foyer with quiet finality.
Dad’s jaw hardened. “I want to know why federal agents are standing in my foyer.”
The agent met his gaze without hesitation. “The warrant relates to financial activity connected to King Enterprises.”
A heavy silence followed. Then the agent’s attention shifted. “Mr. Lorne Hawthorne.”
Lorne froze, his face a wall of granite. His dark eyes moved between the agents, polished steel behind the calm expression he wore. “You are being detained in connection with a federal investigation involving financial misconduct tied to King Enterprises.”
Lorne laughed once, harsh and disbelieving. “This is absurd.” His voice rose as he stepped forward. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“We’re not here to debate the evidence,” the agent replied calmly. “You’ll have the opportunity to address it with counsel.”
“Who filed this?” Lorne demanded. “Who’s been digging through my accounts and fabricating evidence?”
The agent didn’t react. “That information will be addressed through your legal counsel.”
Dad shifted slightly beside the staircase. “There’s clearly been a misunderstanding,” he began, the authority in his voice returning as he tried to reclaim control of the room. “Our attorneys will—”
“This warrant has already been reviewed and approved.”
The interruption came quietly.
Something flickered across Lorne’s face that wasn’t anger. Panic.
My attention locked in immediately.
“You’re making a serious error,” he insisted. “You have no idea what kind of damage this—”
“Mr. Whitaker.”
The agent’s interruption carried quiet finality. “You need to come with us.”
For several seconds, Lorne didn’t move. His gaze shifted toward Dad.
“Our legal team will need to review whatever documentation you believe justifies this,” Dad said, his tone cool and deliberate.
The agent acknowledged him with a brief nod. “You’re welcome to contact your legal counsel.”
His attention returned immediately to Lorne.
“This company has operated within the law for decades,” Lorne snapped. “If someone believes they can drag my name through the mud with fabricated accusations—”
“Mr. Whitaker.” The agent cut him off. “You can address all of that with your attorney.”
Lorne’s eyes moved across the room in a slightly unhinged frenzy.
Dad had gone completely still beside the staircase. The tension in his jaw told me he understood something none of us had yet spoken aloud.
Mom hadn’t moved. Her hands rested lightly against the marble table, her expression composed enough that anyone who didn’t know her would assume this was simply another unpleasant meeting.
But I’d grown up watching her read rooms. She already understood the implications.
Drew hadn’t spoken once since I arrived. His attention moved carefully between Lorne, the agents, and our father—absorbing every shift in the room without revealing a single thought.
For the first time in my life, Dad looked smaller than the man who had built King Enterprises into the empire it was now.
The lead agent stepped forward. “Mr. Whitaker. It’s time.”
Lorne’s jaw hardened. A flash of ruthlessness crossed his dark eyes. I had seen that look before. He was the kind of man who smiled while deciding who would bleed for him.
I thought he might refuse. Then something shifted behind his eyes. He straightened his jacket and walked toward the door without another word.
Two agents moved beside him.
The entire exchange remained controlled—no shouting, no struggle. I moved closer to the front windows as they escorted him outside to the waiting vehicles. The overhead lights caught in his black hair, caramel highlights flashing briefly as he turned toward the house.
And that was when I noticed the other car. Parked farther down the drive, partially hidden by the curve of the hedges. Black. Engine running. Charles Dunn sat behind the wheel and watched as Lorne was guided toward the back seat of the government vehicle.
Moments later, the convoy pulled away, disappearing down the long driveway that stretched toward the gate.
Mom stepped forward and closed the front door. Without a word, everyone drifted toward the family room.
Dad sank slowly into one of the chairs near the fireplace. The movement looked heavier than I’d ever seen from him. Mom remained standing, probably already thinking through what the fallout would require.
Drew stepped forward then. His voice cut gently through the silence. “I’ll handle this.”
Dad lifted his head to look at him.
Drew’s expression remained calm and focused—as if he had already begun mapping the damage and the response.
Watching him in that moment, it hit me slowly. While the rest of us reacted to what had just happened—Drew looked prepared for it.
The government vehicles disappeared beyond the gates at the end of the drive.
Standing there in the quiet that followed, I understood something with uncomfortable clarity. Whoever had started this war had never been aiming at Lorne alone.