Chapter 7 - The Arrest
Richard’s face contorted into something animalistic. With a roar of frustration, he lunged toward the projector cable, yanking it from the wall, sending the tablet clattering to the floor. “Get out! All of you, get out of this room! This is my event! I paid for this room!”
“Actually, you didn't,” the manager of the Lake House Café said, stepping into the room from the service entrance, followed by two uniformed officers from the Bellevue Police Department.
The sight of the uniforms caused an immediate stir. Aunt Valerie gasped, quickly gathering her coat, while several distant relatives began filing toward the side exits in hurried, embarrassed silence.
“Mr. Collins?” one of the officers asked, unhooking a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt. “Richard Collins?”
Richard stepped back, his hands raised in defensive panic. “What is this? This is a civil matter! This is a family argument! Who called the police?”
“I did,” Michael said calmly, stepping forward and showing his identification. “Thirty minutes ago, when Richard Collins struck my fiancée in the presence of fifty-eight witnesses. Furthermore, Detective Miller from the King County Financial Crimes Division asked us to notify local dispatch if Mr. Collins attempted to leave the county.”
“Financial crimes?” Uncle Thomas echoed, his mouth agape.
“The equipment leases he forged Nancy’s name on were backed by state-chartered credit unions,” Michael explained to the remaining relatives. “That makes it grand larceny and identity theft under Washington state law. We filed the formal report on Wednesday. We gave Richard until this morning to sign a voluntary repayment agreement and enter mediation. Instead, he demanded sixty-five thousand dollars more and slapped his daughter when she refused.”
The officer stepped behind Richard. “Hands behind your back, sir.”
“Helen! Call Arthur! Call our lawyer!” Richard screamed, struggling against the officer’s grip as the cold steel cuffs clicked around his wrists. “Nancy, you ungrateful little bitch! I gave you life! I built you! You’ll rot in hell for this!”
No one moved to help him.
Uncle Thomas, Richard’s own younger brother, took two steps back and turned his back on him entirely. Cousin Greg pulled out his phone, likely already texting the family group chat the unbelievable reality of what had just transpired.
My father was escorted out of the Lake House Café, his shouts echoing through the atrium until the heavy double glass doors shut behind him.
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The dining room looked like a battlefield after the smoke had cleared. Half-eaten plates, tipped water glasses, crumpled napkins, and the glowing red mark on my cheek that was beginning to swell into a deep purple bruise.
My mother stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway. Then, without a word, she turned to me and collapsed to her knees on the patterned carpet, burying her face against my skirt, weeping with a sound so broken it sounded like tearing cloth.
