Chapter 19 - Mason's Last Stand
Desperation makes monsters out of cowards.
At 11:30 PM on a sweltering Thursday night, Mason stood outside the perimeter wall of 4410 Palomino Ridge. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie, his face shadowed, his mind warped by alcohol, panic, and the impending reality of his federal indictment.
He knew the security codes for the side gate. He had lived here for five years.
He knew that inside the master bedroom closet, behind the custom cedar panels, was Valerie’s private safe. Inside that safe was over eighty thousand dollars in untraceable collector watches, diamond tennis bracelets, and several thousand dollars in emergency cash reserves.
*If I get that cash,* Mason thought frantically, his pupils dilated with adrenaline, *I can buy a bus ticket to Mexico. I can disappear across the border before the FBI serves the warrant tomorrow morning.*
He typed the six-digit code into the side gate keypad.
The gate clicked open.
Mason slipped through the courtyard, moving silently across the desert grass. He reached the rear patio glass sliding door. He pulled a glass cutter from his pocket—a desperate tool bought at a hardware store three hours ago—and prepared to strike.
Before the tool could touch the glass, the entire estate lit up like midday.
Blinding, ten-thousand-lumen stadium floodlights snapped on from every angle of the roofline, bathing the patio in searing, inescapable white light.
A deafening siren shrieked through the night air.
*“Mason Sterling! Stand down and put your hands on your head!”*
A voice boomed through the estate’s automated public address system.
Mason froze, blinded, throwing his hands up to block the glare.
From around the corner of the pool house stepped four Phoenix Police tactical officers with rifles drawn, accompanied by two Maricopa County Sheriff K-9 units. The German Shepherds were barking with savage, chest-rattling intensity, straining against their leashes.
Standing behind the safety glass of the master study, completely untouchable, was Valerie.
Beside her stood Marcus Vance and Detective Miller of the Phoenix Special Investigations Unit.
“Mason Sterling,” Detective Miller’s voice echoed through the outdoor speakers. “You are violating an active order of protection, committing felony attempted burglary, and trespassing under armed surveillance. Drop the weapon and lie face down on the concrete immediately!”
Mason looked at Valerie through the glass.
She stood in the light, her face calm, serene, and majestic. She didn't look at him with anger, or hatred, or triumph. She looked at him the way a judge looks at a convicted felon—with final, unalterable closure.
The glass cutter slipped from Mason’s trembling fingers and clattered onto the stone tiles.
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He sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands, weeping like a broken child as the officers swarmed over him, forcing his arms behind his back and clicking the cold steel handcuffs around his wrists for the last time.
***