Ryan looked up from the floor in the hallway, his face streaked with tears and dirt.

“Emily, please,” Ryan sobbed. “We can fix this. I’ll get help.”

“You had your chance to get help,” I said.

The agents lifted Ryan to his feet.

He stumbled, his knees buckling, but they held him up and dragged him toward the door.

Evelyn stood up, her hand reaching out for her husband.

“Charles, do something,” she whispered.

Charles did not move.

He stared at the floor, his hands resting limp on his knees.

The agents placed handcuffs on him as well.

They led the three of them out into the cold night air.

Outside, the driveway was filled with flashing red and blue lights.

The rain had started again, a soft drizzle that made the wet pavement shine.

I watched them being loaded into the back of separate black SUVs.

The neighbors from the surrounding estates were standing at the edge of their driveways, watching.

The great Whitmore dynasty was ending in the rain, under the gaze of the people they had tried so hard to impress.