Harrison Croft retaliated swiftly. Within hours of Chloe’s article hitting the stands, heavy steel construction barricades appeared along the sidewalk in front of Arthur’s brownstone. They stretched from one property line to the other, making his home appear isolated, almost quarantined.
Harrison, ever the showman, held an impromptu press conference across the street. He claimed the barricades were “necessary to protect the public” from Arthur’s “imminently collapsing structural facade,” a direct jab at Gable’s falsified report.
Arthur tried to leave his front porch to attend a crucial city council hearing regarding the eminent domain petition. Two private security officers, hired by Croft, materialized in front of him. They were large, unsmiling men in dark uniforms.
“Sorry, sir,” one of them said, blocking his path with a beefy arm. “This is an active municipal work site. No trespassing.”
Arthur gripped the wrought-iron railing, his knuckles white. “This is my home! I have a right to leave!”
“Orders are orders, old man,” the other guard replied, his voice devoid of sympathy. “Stay behind the barricade for your own safety.”
Trapped, Arthur stumbled back inside. The air in his foyer felt suddenly thick, suffocating. A sharp, crushing pain erupted in his chest, radiating outwards. He gasped, his vision blurring. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cool hallway rug, the barricades and the world beyond his door fading into a terrifying, constricted darkness.
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