Chapter 8 - Red and Blue Lights
The flashing red and blue strobes of an unmarked police cruiser painted violent, rhythmic patterns across the living room walls. The tires crunched sharply against the gravel driveway before coming to an abrupt, aggressive stop right outside our front door.
Gregory froze, staring out the front window through the sheer curtains. The color completely drained from his face.
“Who did you call?” he demanded, his voice pitching upward into genuine panic as heavy boots pounded against the front porch steps. “Clara, tell me you didn't call the police—!”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three heavy, authoritative raps shook the wooden front door on its hinges.
I didn't answer him. I walked over to the entryway, my hand steady as I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Standing on the porch were two uniformed Chicago police officers flanked by a tall man in a sharp charcoal suit holding a thick leather briefcase.
“Mrs. Miller?” the lead officer asked, flashing his badge.
“Yes. Come in, please,” I stepped aside, letting them step into the foyer.
Marcus Vance stepped out from behind the officers, offering me a sharp, reassuring nod. He looked around the entryway before fixing his gaze directly on Gregory, who was standing frozen by the dining room table like a deer caught in high-beam headlights.
“Mr. Gregory Miller?” Marcus asked, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the house with surgical precision. “I’m Marcus Vance, retained legal counsel for Dr. Clara Miller. We have an emergency protective custody order signed by Judge Halloway, alongside an immediate execution of the marital asset freeze.”
Gregory’s chest heaved as he gripped the back of the dining chair for support. “This is a civil matter! You can't just bring police into a private residence over a divorce proceeding—!”
“It stopped being a civil matter the moment our forensic audit uncovered four million dollars in illicitly funneled corporate embezzlement funds registered under dummy accounts,” Marcus interrupted smoothly, sliding a folded document out of his briefcase. “The local authorities are here to ensure compliance with the emergency custody and property transfer orders. You have two choices, Greg: you pack a bag right now and leave peacefully, or you spend the rest of the night in a holding cell for resisting a court-mandated injunction.”
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Gregory looked from Marcus to the two uniformed officers, whose hands rested casually near the utility belts on their waists. He realized he had nowhere left to run. The walls he had built around his secret life had collapsed entirely.
With a defeated groan, Gregory turned around, walked slowly up the stairs toward the master bedroom to pack his things, the heavy silence of the house weighing down every single footstep.
