“Give me the phone,” I repeated firmly, and something in my tone made him obey.
I dialed a number I knew by heart. “Hello,” my father answered warmly.
“Dad,” I whispered, and my composure cracked. “They stripped me and threw me out in the street.”
There was silence on the other end, heavy and dangerous. “Who did this to you,” he asked, and his voice changed from gentle father to commanding leader.
“The Ashfords, all of them,” I replied through tears.
“Stay where you are,” he said calmly. “I was flying in to surprise you for your anniversary, I just landed at the private airfield outside the city, but plans have changed.”
“I am cold,” I admitted softly.
“You will not be cold for long,” he answered. “They will feel the storm I bring.”
I hung up and sat on the wet sidewalk, unaware that those twenty minutes would be the final minutes of the Ashford dynasty.
The first sign of my father’s arrival was the thunderous sound of helicopter blades slicing through the sky. Two black helicopters descended onto the front lawn, crushing Vivian’s award winning roses and sending guests running back inside in panic.