Chapter 9 - The Ultimatum
The morning sun broke over the horizon, casting pale amber light across the front steps of the Oak Creek police precinct.
I sat on the concrete bench outside the glass doors, the heavy metal lockbox resting securely between my boots. My phone buzzed in my palm. It was a text message from an unknown number—Paige.
Ethan, please, you have to help us. The bank froze our cards, the motel is kicking us out, and Ma is having a panic attack. We're your family! How could you do this to us over a woman who was practically a stranger? Call us back!
I stared at the screen, a cold, bitter smile touching my lips. Family.
Before I could reply, my phone rang with an incoming call from a local number. I swiped to answer.
"Sergeant Harper?" a sharp, professional voice asked. "This is Detective Vance down at the precinct. We received your preliminary fraud package regarding the unauthorized asset transfers and medical obstruction."
"I'm sitting outside right now, Detective," I said smoothly.
"Good. Because you might want to come inside. Your mother and sister just walked into the lobby demanding to file criminal extortion charges against you. They claim you stole their personal property and threatened them."
I stood up, picked up the metal lockbox, and adjusted my jacket. "Tell them not to go anywhere, Detective. I brought some show-and-tell material of my own."
I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the precinct and walked into the bustling lobby. There sat Margaret and Paige, huddled together on a plastic bench like victims of a terrible injustice. Margaret wore a fake fur coat, her face twisted into an ugly mask of righteous fury, while Paige sobbed loudly into a designer handkerchief.
When they saw me walk through the metal detectors in my faded military fatigues, Margaret sprang to her feet.
"Ethan!" she shrieked, marching right up to me, her finger jabbing accusingly toward my chest. "Have you lost your absolute mind?! Arrest him right now! He threw us out of our home, he froze our accounts, and he's treating us like criminals!"
Detective Vance stepped out from the hallway, watching the scene with a critical, hardened expression.
May you like
I didn't yell. I didn't raise my voice. I simply set the heavy metal lockbox down on the nearest intake desk, popped the latches, and pulled out Gwen's handwritten journal and the stack of red-stamped medical notices.
"You're right, Ma," I said, my voice dropping into a lethal, quiet tone that made the entire lobby fall dead silent. "We need to talk about who the real criminal is."
