Chapter 2 - The Circus in the Precinct Lobby
Out in the crowded glass-and-linoleum lobby of the 4th Precinct, the atmosphere felt like a high-society victory party.
My mother, Eleanor, was sitting on a plastic bench, reapplying crimson lipstick in a compact mirror, humming a light tune while my father, Arthur, paced the floor with an expensive cigar tucked into his breast pocket.
Near the main entrance doors, Fiona was holding her smartphone on an extendable stabilizer rig, posing for the lens with tears of faux sorrow streaming down her cheeks.
"I just want to thank all of you for the overwhelming support," Fiona sobbed softly into the microphone, blinking rapidly to accentuate her mascara. "It broke our hearts to call the police on my own sister, but when someone steals five million dollars from a grieving family, silence is complicity. Justice is finally being served!"
The live chat scrolling across her screen was an endless blur of outrage: Lock her up! Disgusting thief! How could she do that to her own parents?!
Marcus Bennett, wearing a thousand-dollar Italian wool overcoat, strode through the sliding glass doors, carrying a heavy leather briefcase with gold latches.
"Eleanor, Arthur," Marcus greeted them, a smug, triumphant grin plastered across his face. "The night magistrate just approved the preliminary asset freeze order. Because Elena was booked on felony embezzlement charges, the statutory incapacity clause in Charles’s will is triggered automatically."
Mother snapped her compact shut, her eyes gleaming with predatory greed. "How long until the five million is released to our account, Marcus?"
"By eight o'clock this morning," Marcus chuckled, adjusting his silk tie. "Once she’s transferred to the county holding facility, I will present the conservatorship order to First National Bank. The funds will be wired directly into the family shell entity we registered in Delaware."
Father clapped Marcus on the shoulder, laughing out loud. "Three months of playing the patient, grieving relatives, and it all pays off in one clean sweep! That stubborn little brat thought she was so clever taking Grandpa's side."
"She’s in an orange jumpsuit right now, Dad," Fiona chimed in, turning the camera toward the secured double doors leading to the holding cells. "Let's make sure we get a thumbnail photo of her being led into the transport van! The engagement on this stream will earn me fifty thousand in ad revenue alone!"
The heavy steel security doors suddenly buzzed, unlocking with a sharp, hydraulic hiss.
Two dozen tactical officers in tactical body armor, carrying federal badge lanyards, poured into the lobby, rapidly taking positions around every exit and blocking the revolving doors.
Fiona gasped, turning her camera toward the officers. "Look, guys! The swat team is here! They must be transferring her to maximum security!"
The officers didn't head toward the holding cells. They formed two disciplined rows, flanking the hallway.
Walking through the center of the corridor was not a broken prisoner in an orange jumpsuit.
It was me, wearing a federal agent tactical vest over my dark clothes, my gold Treasury shield hanging from a steel chain around my neck, flanked by Agent Miller and six armed federal marshals.
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The smile on Marcus Bennett’s face died instantly.
The cigar slipped from my father’s fingers, hitting the polished linoleum with a soft, hollow thud.
