Chapter 8 - The Raid at Midnight
Thirty seconds later, the front door swung open without a knock.
Stepping into the entryway was Marcus Vance, impeccably dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, carrying a thick leather briefcase. Flanking him were two uniformed Denver Police officers and a plainclothes detective with a gold shield clipped to his belt.
Uncle Frank dropped his fork with a loud clatter against his china plate.
Aunt Brenda gasped, clutching her pearls. "What on earth is the meaning of this?!"
"Good evening," Marcus Vance announced, his deep baritone cutting through the dining room like a broadsword. "My name is Marcus Vance, legal counsel for Emily Bennett. Officers, the primary suspect who just confessed to felony extortion and grand larceny is seated at the head of the table. Patricia Bennett."
Patricia’s face turned from smug satisfaction to the color of curdled milk in two seconds flat.
"What?!" she shrieked, knocking her wine glass over, sending dark red wine spilling across the white tablecloth like pool of blood. "Nathan! What is this?!"
Detective Miller stepped forward, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt.
"Patricia Bennett, stand up and place your hands behind your back."
"No! No, you can't do this!" Patricia screamed, backing away from the table toward the kitchen counters. "This is my son's house! Emily is lying! She gave me that jewelry! It was a gift!"
"We have your handwritten ransom note recovered from the safe, Mrs. Bennett," Detective Miller said calmly, walking steadily toward her. "We have the audio recording from two minutes ago where you explicitly stated the heirlooms were held as collateral in exchange for real estate title execution. And we have the building’s surveillance footage showing you carrying a lockbox out of this unit yesterday at 2:15 PM."
"Tyler! Nathan! Don't let them touch me!" Patricia wailed, her voice reaching an ear-splitting screech as Miller grabbed her wrists and snapped the cold steel handcuffs shut.
Tyler bolted out of his chair, lunging toward the hallway to reach his bedroom. "I didn't do anything! I don't know anything about jewelry!"
"Tyler Bennett?" the second uniformed officer barked, intercepting him in three strides, shoving him chest-first against the wall, and wrenching his arms behind him. "You have an outstanding warrant out of El Paso County for failure to appear on felony sports gambling and fraud charges. Down on the floor. Now!"
"Ow! My shoulder! Nathan, help me!" Tyler howled, his face mashed against the hardwood floor right next to the gouged furrows he had created with my desk.
Nathan stood frozen in the center of the room, looking back and forth between his screaming mother in handcuffs, his younger brother pinned to the floor, and the police officers.
"Emily... please," Nathan whimpered, tears pouring down his face, his voice cracking into a pathetic squeak. "Call them off. Please. It’s my mother. She’s sixty-two years old. She won't survive jail."
"She should have thought about that before she became a burglar, Nathan," I said, looking at him with utter, uncompromising disgust.
Uncle Frank rose from his chair, his face crimson with outrage. "This is an outrage! You are humiliating this entire family over some trinkets! Nathan, are you going to stand there and let this woman destroy your mother?!"
Marcus Vance stepped in front of Uncle Frank, towering over him, and opened his briefcase.
"Frank Bennett, is it?" Marcus asked, pulling out a crisp legal document. "If you utter one more word interfering with active police operations, I will have Detective Miller cite you for obstruction of justice. Furthermore, as secondary legal counsel representing Emily Bennett in the dissolution of marriage, I am formally serving Nathan Bennett with this."
Marcus slapped a thick stack of papers directly against Nathan’s chest.
*PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE – EMERGENCY ASSET FREEZE & RESTRAINING ORDER.*
Nathan caught the papers against his ribs, staring down at the bold black lettering as if it were a venomous snake.
"Divorce?" Nathan gasped. "Emily... no. We can go to counseling! We can move out! Just you and me!"
"You committed bank fraud, Nathan," I said, stepping forward so I was inches from his face. "You forged my signature on an eighty-thousand-dollar loan with Apex Capital. Detective Miller has already forwarded the loan application to the Denver DA’s office. You aren't going to counseling, Nathan. You’re going to criminal court."
Nathan’s knees buckled. He collapsed onto the dining room chair, burying his face in his hands, hyperventilating.
Aunt Brenda looked down at Nathan, then looked at Patricia, who was being dragged toward the front door, spitting curses and screaming obscenities that would have made a sailor blush.
"You vile, barren little witch!" Patricia shrieked at me, thrashing in Detective Miller’s grip as she was hauled into the carpeted hallway. "You destroyed my boys! I cursed the day Nathan met you! You will rot in hell for this!"
"Get her into the elevator," Miller ordered his partner.
Tyler was hoisted to his feet, cuffed and sobbing, his fancy button-down shirt torn at the collar, and marched out right behind his mother.
The silence that settled over the apartment was sudden, absolute, and deafening.
Uncle Frank and Aunt Brenda stood by the door, completely frozen, their pious moral superiority utterly annihilated by the reality of the handcuffs, the warrants, and the felony fraud.
"I believe your coats are in the entryway closet," Marcus Vance said smoothly, gesturing toward the door. "And if either of you ever contacts Mrs. Bennett again, I will personally file civil harassment suits against both of your estates in El Paso County. Have a pleasant evening."
Uncle Frank grabbed Aunt Brenda’s arm, and without looking back, the two of them scurried out the door like scalded dogs, leaving the roasted chicken to cool on the dining table.
Only Nathan remained.
He sat alone amid the wreckage of the half-eaten dinner, staring at the divorce papers in his lap, weeping silently.
"Nathan," I said quietly.
He looked up, his eyes bloodshot, his face hollowed by defeat. "Emily... where am I supposed to go?"
"I don't care," I replied. "You have fifteen minutes to put your clothes in a suitcase and leave my home. If you are still here when the clock strikes eight, the civil deputy waiting downstairs will escort you out in handcuffs for unlawful trespass."
Nathan stared at me for five long seconds, searching my eyes for even a glimmer of the woman who had loved him, who had compromised for him, who had tolerated his weakness.
He found nothing.
May you like
Slowly, dragging his feet like a condemned man walking to the gallows, Nathan stood up, walked into the guest room, and began throwing his clothes into a battered duffel bag.
***