*SLAM.*
His cheek struck the wood, his gold Patek Philippe watch popping from his wrist and skittering across the floor:
*click-clatter-roll.*
A pair of heavy-duty, double-locking, high-security stainless-steel military transport restraints ratcheted around Julian’s wrists with two sharp, definitive snaps that sounded like twin rifle shots across the silent house:
*SNAP.*
A second set of chains clamped around his ankles—the identical stainless-steel irons used for capital traitors at the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth:
*SNAP-CLINK.*
Julian wept into the hardwood, spit, blood, and tears pooling around his split lower lip:
“Clara… please!
Look at me!
I am Willa’s father!
We shared a bed!
You can’t let them take me to a military prison in chains!”
I stood in the center of the foyer.
I looked down at the five hundred-dollar bills crushed beneath my boots.
