Chapter 7 - The Arrest of Linda
The autumn chill was biting on Friday afternoon as an unmarked Cook County Sheriff cruiser pulled up to the curb outside Linda's garden apartment in Cicero.
Linda was standing on the narrow concrete porch, holding two large plastic laundry baskets packed with her winter clothes and kitchen pots.
Her landlord, a stout man named Mr. Kowalski, stood on the walkway holding a signed court writ of eviction and a heavy crowbar.
"You had until noon, Mrs. Bennett," Kowalski barked, pointing toward the street.
"Your son’s check bounced three times! The sheriff is here to clear the premises!"
Linda threw her hands in the air, her face twisted in bitter, theatrical hysteria.
"My son is a prominent commercial executive in downtown Chicago! This is an outrage! My lawyer will have you arrested for harassment!"
Two female sheriff deputies stepped out of the cruiser, walking up the cracked concrete path with calm, measured steps.
"Linda Bennett?" the lead deputy asked, unbuttoning her tactical jacket.
"Yes! Finally, the police are here!" Linda declared, puffing out her chest.
"Arrest this slumlord! He is throwing a senior citizen onto the street without proper notice!"
The deputy pulled an official arrest warrant from her clipboard, holding it up so Linda could see the red wax seal.
"Linda Bennett, I have a warrant for your arrest issued by the Circuit Court of Cook County."
Linda froze, her jaw dropping open, her arms going limp so that one of the laundry baskets fell, spilling plastic cups and canned soup across the steps.
"A warrant? For me? That's ridiculous! I’m a grandmother! What could I possibly be charged with?"
"Felony conspiracy to commit grand theft, money laundering, and receiving stolen property," the deputy recited clearly.
"Pursuant to your involvement with Bennett Property Holdings and the fraudulent transfer of real estate assets."
Linda’s eyes bulged in pure terror as she backed away toward her screen door.
"No! That was Michael! Michael handled all the paperwork! I just signed what he told me to sign!"
"You signed the purchase agreement for the Michigan lakefront parcel, Mrs. Bennett," the deputy said, taking Linda firmly by the forearm.
"And you accepted forty-five thousand dollars in wire transfers from stolen escrow accounts."
The deputy spun Linda around, clicking the heavy steel handcuffs around her wrists with a sharp, echoing snap that made her let out a shrill shriek.
"My bathrobe!" Linda screamed as she was led down the steps in tears.
"I have my things inside! You can't leave my clothes on the sidewalk!"
Mr. Kowalski walked past her, wedged his crowbar behind the apartment door jamb, and pried the old lock free with a loud, splintering crack.
"Your things belong to the city dump now, Linda," Kowalski spat, dragging her remaining boxes out to the curb.
Neighbors gathered on their porches along the Cicero street, watching in silent fascination as the proud, haughty woman who had bragged about her son's luxury high-rise was bundled into the back of a police cruiser.
Twenty minutes later, Linda arrived at the county lockup, where she was processed, fingerprinted, and issued an orange prison jumpsuit.
When she was led into the holding cell, she looked across the concrete room and gasped in horror.
Sitting on the metal bench in the far corner, wearing a matching orange jumpsuit and crying hysterically into her knees, was Chloe Henderson.
The State’s Attorney had picked up Chloe two hours earlier for commercial tax fraud and aiding in the conversion of stolen corporate vehicles.
The mother and the mistress—the two women Michael had tried to move into my home—were finally sharing a room together.
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Just like they had planned in their blueprints.
Except instead of heated travertine floors and lakefront views, their new living room had concrete walls, an iron toilet, and iron bars that didn't have locks for them to change.
