Chapter 8 - THE CONFESSION
The red and blue lights of the police cruisers fractured through the dirty, barred windows of the warehouse, painting Kent’s terrified face in jagged strokes of color.
He scrambled backward on the concrete floor, his hands desperately grabbing at the shattered pieces of the violin, as if he could somehow glue his salvation back together.
"You ruined it," Kent muttered, his breathing erratic. "You ruined everything."
"Put your hands where I can see them!" a voice boomed as the heavy steel door was kicked open. Three Seattle police officers stormed in, flashlights cutting through the dim, turpentine-scented air.
Vance immediately raised his hands, stepping away from his holstered weapon. "Harrison Vance, I'm the one who was on the phone with dispatch. The weapon is registered."
An officer quickly disarmed Vance while two others grabbed Kent. Kent fought, thrashing wildly.
"She did it!" Kent screamed, spit flying from his lips as they forced him face-first against a stack of tonewood. "She’s the mastermind! The shop accounts—check the accounts! Her sister took the money! They stole from the foundation!"
"Shut up," one of the officers grunted, snapping handcuffs onto Kent’s wrists with a harsh, metallic click.
I stood frozen, the broken neck of the violin still clutched in my hand. The adrenaline was draining from my body, leaving me hollow and shivering. I looked at my father. He was staring at the police, bewildered but calm, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder.
"Ma'am?" a female officer approached me slowly, her flashlight lowered. "Are you Sylvia Ashby?"
"Mercer," I corrected, my voice raspy. "My name is Sylvia Mercer."
"Sylvia!"
I turned. Nadine was pushing past a uniform at the door, her raincoat dripping, her face pale. She ran to us, wrapping her arms around my father first, burying her face in his chest, then reaching out to grab my hand.
"I brought the police from the assisted living facility," Nadine cried. "When you didn't answer your phone, I thought—"
"I'm okay," I said, leaning into her.
"You won't be!" Kent yelled as the officers dragged him toward the door. He locked eyes with Nadine, his face twisted in a vicious sneer. "Tell them, Nadine! Tell them where the eighty-five grand for Mommy’s heart came from! You're going to share a cell with me!"
Nadine froze. The color rushed from her face. She looked at me, terrified. "Sylvia... what is he talking about?"
"The money for Mom's surgery," I said quietly, watching my sister's face carefully. "Kent said he forged a grant from the foundation in the shop's name to pay for it. He said you knew."
Nadine’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked at the police, then back at me. Tears welled in her eyes.
"Sylvia, I swear to God," Nadine choked out, gripping my hands tightly. "I didn't know. He told me he liquidated his grandfather's trust. He made me promise never to tell you because he didn't want you to feel indebted to him. I signed a non-disclosure agreement he drafted. I have it in my safe at home!"
I exhaled a long, shuddering breath. A non-disclosure agreement. Kent had papered his lies so thoroughly that even if someone found out, he had a legal shield.
"I believe you," I said softly.
"It doesn't matter what you believe!" Kent shouted from the doorway. "The money is gone! The foundation will press charges to get it back! They'll take the house, the shop, everything!"
"Actually," Harrison Vance said, stepping forward, his expensive shoes crunching on the broken wood of the violin. He buttoned his jacket, looking at Kent with absolute disdain. "The foundation will be doing no such thing."
Kent stopped struggling. "What?"
Vance turned to me. "Mrs. Mercer. Over the last three years, Kent sold four 'masterpiece' violins to private buyers in my circle. I bought one myself. We all believed they were authentic. But if they were all carved by your father..."
"They are magnificent instruments," I said firmly, finding my voice. "My father is a master. His original work is worth tens of thousands of dollars on its own. But they are not three-hundred-year-old antiques."
Vance nodded slowly. "If the foundation were to acknowledge that our Development Director was running a forgery ring using stolen charity funds... the scandal would destroy us. Our major donors would pull their endowments by morning."
"You have to report it!" Kent yelled. "It's a felony!"
"I am reporting the theft of five hundred thousand dollars," Vance said coldly to Kent. "I am reporting that you took out fraudulent loans. I am reporting that you attempted to flee the country."
Vance then looked at me, his eyes softening just a fraction. "But as for the eighty-five thousand dollar grant given to Mercer String Works five years ago... upon review of the foundation's archives, I'm certain we will find it was a legitimate, board-approved charitable health grant for a prominent local business family."
Nadine let out a sob of relief, covering her face.
Kent went entirely still. He realized what Vance was doing. Vance was protecting the foundation's reputation by protecting us. Kent was being cut out completely.
"You can't do that," Kent whispered, defeated.
"Watch me," Vance said. He looked at the officers. "Get this garbage out of my sight."
As they hauled Kent through the steel doors, he didn't scream anymore. He just stared at me, his eyes hollow, finally realizing that the woman he had spent a decade underestimating had just dismantled his entire life.
Lacy walked over to me. She looked at the shattered violin on the floor, then up at my father.
"I'll testify to the notary fraud," Lacy said quietly. "The bank will void the foreclosure on your shop. I already called the loan officer."
"Thank you, Lacy," I said.
She offered a small, sad smile, then walked out into the rain.
May you like
I looked down at the broken pieces of my father's beautiful work. It was a tragedy to destroy it. But as I looked at my father, who was holding Nadine's hand and smiling softly, I knew it was the right choice.
"Come on, Dad," I said, putting my arm around him. "Let's go home."
