Chapter 8 - The Handcuffs in the Orchard
From the edges of the orchard rows, the four plainclothes investigators from the District Attorney’s office stepped into the open clearing, flashing gold law enforcement badges.
"Tyler Carter, Diane Carter, and Gerald Hartwell," Marcus Stone announced, stepping up to the altar with a certified judicial warrant. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit real estate fraud, forgery of legal instruments, and grand theft under California Penal Code section four hundred eighty-seven."
Tyler lunged backward, his polished dress shoes slipping on the damp grass beneath the apple trees. "Mom! Do something! Call Judge Miller!"
"Nobody is calling Judge Miller, Tyler," Marcus said coldly, signaling the two lead detectives. "Judge Miller was the magistrate who signed this warrant twenty minutes ago."
The detectives grabbed Tyler’s arms, forcing him down against the wooden cross at the altar, ratcheting the cold steel handcuffs around his wrists with sharp, metallic clicks.
Diane shrieked as a female officer took her arm, twisting her wrist behind her back. "Get your filthy hands off my dress! Do you know who I am? I am the president of the Healdsburg Chamber of Commerce!"
"Not anymore, Mrs. Carter," the officer replied calmly, securing the cuffs around her wrists, sending her wide-brimmed hat tumbling into the dirt.
Gerald Hartwell didn't scream. He didn't fight.
He stood by the front row with tears streaming down his weathered cheeks, offering his wrists to the fourth detective without looking at me once.
"Nora..." Gerald choked out, his voice cracked with utter defeat. "Kiddo... I was in debt to the casino in Reno... they were going to take my house."
"My father gave you twenty thousand dollars when you lost your business in ninety-nine, Gerald," I said, looking at him with profound, sorrowful pity. "And you traded his daughter's legacy for thirty pieces of silver. Don't ever call me kiddo again."
Down the row, Brooke was on her knees in the dirt, her peach maid-of-honor dress stained with mud, crying so hard she could barely breathe.
"Nora, please!" Brooke pleaded, looking up at me through her ruined makeup. "Tyler told me you were going to break up with him anyway! He said the orchard was going to be lost to taxes! I was just trying to protect myself!"
I walked over to where she knelt, stopping two feet from her trembling hands.
May you like
I reached out, unbuttoned the gray cardigan from her shoulders, and pulled it back into my own hands.
"This belonged to me, Brooke," I whispered gently. "Just like my dignity. And you don't get to borrow either of them ever again."
