He Hit His Pregnant Wife and Sent Her Into Labor, but He Forgot Her Father Had Spent Thirty Years Building the City Around Him

Assistant District Attorney Frank Castle was fifty-five, with iron-gray hair and a reputation for sending mob bosses and dirty politicians to Sing Sing for life.

He walked over to Richard Hall, shaking his hand briefly, before turning to look down at Tyler Miller.

"Tyler Miller," Castle said, unfolding a legal document. "You are under arrest for attempted murder in the second degree, aggravated assault of a pregnant person, reckless endangerment, and tampering with physical evidence."

Tyler scrambled to his feet, holding his zip-tied hands out toward the detectives. "Officers! Thank God! Take me! Take me with you right now! He kidnapped me! He brought me to this pit!"

Detective Miller, a veteran precinct detective from Brooklyn North, didn't even look at the mud on Tyler’s face. He clicked a pair of heavy steel handcuffs around Tyler’s wrists, snapping the plastic zip-ties with a pocketknife.

"You have the right to remain silent," Detective Miller read flatly. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"He threatened me!" Tyler screamed, pointing his bound hands at Richard. "Ask him! He brought me here to intimidate me!"

Frank Castle stepped into Tyler’s field of vision, holding a thick black folder.

"Mr. Miller," Castle said dryly. "At 1:20 AM, your brother's apartment in Queens suffered a localized electrical power main blow-out. A city utility crew—working under contract for Hall Infrastructure—was repairing a high-voltage line on the block."

Tyler blinked, his mind struggling to connect the dots.

"When the power went out," Castle continued, "you panicked and ran out into the street, where two uniformed NYPD officers spotted you matching the description of a suspect wanted in connection with an emergency domestic violence call in Brooklyn. They apprehended you without incident and brought you here... to the nearest location where Detective Miller was executing an active felony warrant."

Tyler stared at the prosecutor, his jaw hanging open. "That’s... that’s a lie! They grabbed me from the basement! They put a hood on my head!"

Detective Miller looked at his notepad. "I don't see any hood, Mr. Miller. I see a suspect standing in a muddy construction site where he ran while attempting to evade arrest."

"You're all working for him!" Tyler screamed, his voice cracking into a panicked, high-pitched shriek. "He owns you! He owns all of you!"

Richard Hall stepped toward the police cruiser, opening the rear door himself.

"Your bail hearing is at 9:00 AM, Tyler," Richard said quietly. "My legal team has already filed an emergency injunction freezing every bank account associated with your name, including the $12,000 you stole from Grace’s account tonight."

"You can't freeze my money!"

"I can," Richard said. "And because you are charged with a violent felony involving a firearm or deadly weapon—namely, using a heavy ceramic object to strike Grace's torso—the District Attorney is requesting remand without bail."

Tyler’s face went dead white. "No... no, I need a lawyer! I have a right to a public defender!"

"You will be assigned a public defender," Frank Castle assured him smoothly. "A very tired, very overworked junior attorney who has eighty-five other felony cases on his desk this week."

"Get him in the car," Detective Miller ordered.

They shoved Tyler into the back of the cruiser. His face slammed against the reinforced plastic partition as the door slammed shut.

As the cruiser backed up the mud ramp toward the street, Richard Hall stood under his umbrella, watching the red taillights disappear into the New York night.

"Arthur," Richard said.

"Sir?"

"Call the superintendent of the Brooklyn building. Have Grace’s apartment cleaned, packed, and sold by Monday."