It was only three hours after the publicization of his confession that Edward Jarsdel received word from his gangsters about the guards finally taking action. That was it. The ultimate scenario. He knew this was going to end up either one way or the other; either he and his entire family would see the guillotine known as rapists and murderers, or they would be saved, their reputation cleansed, and his ambitions of legality seen true. That was the plot. That was the plan. He gambled his entire life, and this was one of his biggest gambles yet.
He walked towards the entrance of his rich estate in company of his two bodyguards, his long trenchcoat flapping with the winds. Some citizens were already eyeing him warily. It was now that everyone knew what Edward Jarsdel was doing behind the curtains. A violent man covered in the blood of others. He reached for the entrance of his estate, he was already hearing the joyful chatters of his family, completely unaware of what Edward has done to them. He felt his heart sink, and fearfully opened the door, taking a step inside.
Harrison and Freya were sitting in the lounge, drinks in hand, chattering and bantering to theirselves like their usual time-spend. Edward gave them a glance, but he didn't speak a word, he felt scared to. Avoiding their stares, Edward made way for the staircase, deciding he would avoid what was about to unfold. Even he did not have the strength nor the desire to watch their fate play out as it would.
An hour later, the first blow came from Harrison, who's shouting echoed through the entire estate. The old man reached for his chest and took a few weary breaths, the confession paper in his hand. "What the f**k have you done, Edward?" he questioned to himself, angrily, doubtfully. Freya was blissfully unaware, spending her time drinking and flirting with a friend whom Edward knew would be more than a friend by the end of the night. And so the estate suddenly fell silent with the clanking of armour heard outside.
The door slammed down and a legion of guards stormed in, immediately arresting whichever Jarsdel they came across. Those who resisted were knocked against the doors and even beaten up into compliance. All of this enrolled while Edward Jarsdel quietly sat in his office, using up his entire opium stock to keep his calm. He had betrayed his family, his business, and himself, all for a risk he was willing to take. The gamble was playing out, it's results still unclear. He tried to suppress his immense amount of guilt and regret by blocking out the noises of shouts and armour clanks, a tear or two spilling from his cheek at the desperate attempt of driving away his emotions. Soon, the estate fell silent. There was no Jarsdel left inside but Edward.
And so he sat. Lonely and broken-down, with a glass of whiskey in hand, staring off into nothing. The room was dark and gloom, the darkness embodying Edward's hollow persona and sinking him further into his boss chair. He cherished the silent as much as he could, for he knew it wasn't going to last. He sat there, having paid the cost of success, waiting for his turn. His breaths became heavy of fear, but on the outside he didn't show it, wearing his stone cold mask as he always did. It was any moment now. They could come any moment. He was sweating. His heart was pounding, his eyes bloodshot. He was suffocating already. When will they come? Stay calm. Here it comes.
The door was knocked down.
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