Chapter 11 - Kneeling at the Gates
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At dawn the following morning, the rain finally stopped, leaving the grand gates of the Sterling Estate shrouded in a thick silver mist.
The Sterling Estate was an imposing fortress of dark stone and wrought iron, located on the highest crest overlooking the bay.
A lone figure trudged up the long winding hill leading to the main gates.
It was Isaac.
His clothes were torn, his shoes were covered in mud, and his face was sunken and pale. He had walked three miles in the freezing morning cold because he didn't even have enough cash to pay for a taxi.
He reached the heavy iron gates and pressed his face against the cold metal bars, screaming at the top of his lungs.
“Flora! Flora, please! Look at me! I’m here!”
High above on the third-floor balcony, I stood wearing a long woolen coat, holding a warm cup of coffee. My five brothers stood behind me in silent support.
Through the iron bars below, Isaac caught sight of my figure on the balcony.
He collapsed onto his knees in the wet gravel, slapping his hands against the iron gates, tears pouring down his face.
“Flora!” Isaac wailed, his voice cracking with desperation. “I’m on my knees! Look at me! I’m begging you! Please stop the lawyers! Please don't send me to prison! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
The heavy iron gates didn't budge.
Noah stepped to the balcony railing, picking up a small loudspeaker. His deep voice echoed down the driveway like the judgment of God.
“Four days ago, Isaac Vance,” Noah declared, “you stood in your ballroom and told my sister to learn her place while fifty people watched.”
Isaac wept uncontrollably, pressing his forehead against the muddy ground.
“Your place,” Noah continued coldly, “is in a state prison cell. The police vehicles are arriving behind you now.”
Isaac snapped his head around in panic.
Two marked state police cruisers rolled up the hill, their red and blue lights flashing against the gray morning sky. Four state troopers stepped out, drawing their sidearms.
“Isaac Vance!” an officer shouted. “Hands behind your head! Do not move!”
Isaac screamed in horror as the officers tackled him into the mud, pinning his arms behind his back and clicking heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.
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As they dragged him toward the back seat of the police cruiser, Isaac looked up at the third-floor balcony one last time, weeping, broken, and completely undone.
I took a slow sip of my coffee and turned back inside, leaving the ghost of my past behind.
