Chapter 6 - Desperation and Dust
While Mark sat in a holding cell awaiting his federal trial, the aftermath of the Vance family explosion settled like toxic dust over the city’s elite social circles. The women who used to snub me at charity galas—the ones who took Eleanor’s side and whispered about my "postpartum depression"—were now frantically deleting photos of themselves with the Vance family from their Facebook profiles.
Eleanor, stripped of her credit cards and facing her own indictment, had moved into a miserable two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city. Chloe was working as a receptionist at a low-end car dealership, her wages garnished to pay back the IRS.
But Mark wasn’t done trying to pull me down with him.
Desperation makes dangerous men do foolish things. Mark managed to scrape together enough cash from a shady associate to post his temporary bail before his federal trial began. His first stop wasn’t to his lawyer. It was to my house.
It was a Tuesday evening. The sky was the color of bruised plums, and a heavy thunderstorm was rolling in. I was in the kitchen, making myself a cup of tea, when the security alarm on my phone pinged. Motion at the back gate.
I didn't panic. I checked the cameras. Mark was pacing by the back door, looking disheveled, soaking wet from the rain, and wild-eyed.
I calmly walked to the keypad, armed the perimeter alarm, and pressed the silent panic button that linked directly to the local police precinct. Then, I stood by the kitchen island and waited.
Thump. Thump. Bang!
He was kicking the reinforced glass of the patio door.
“Sarah! Open the door!” he screamed, his voice muffled by the thick glass and the rain. “Open the damn door! You ruined my life!”
I walked slowly to the glass, standing just inches away from him, separated only by the reinforced pane. I looked at him. Really looked at him. The expensive haircut was gone. The bespoke suit was replaced by a cheap, wrinkled windbreaker. He looked pathetic.
“You did this to me!” he screamed, slamming his fist against the glass, leaving a smudge of blood. “You stole my money! You stole my son!”
I didn’t raise my voice. I just smiled, a cold, empty smile, and held up my phone.
Through the glass, he could see the screen. It was a live feed of the front of the house. Three police cruisers had just pulled into the driveway, their red and blue lights flashing rhythmically against the storm.
Mark froze, his eyes widening in pure terror. He looked from the phone to my face.
“You violated your bail conditions, Mark,” I said softly, reading his lips as he cursed. “Coming within five hundred feet of this house is a felony breach. Have a nice life.”
May you like
I watched as the officers rounded the corner of the house, guns drawn, shouting at Mark to get on the ground. He didn't fight back. He fell to his knees in the mud, crying as they handcuffed him.
I turned off the kitchen light, walked upstairs, and checked on Leo. He was sleeping soundly, completely undisturbed by the storm outside.
