Chapter 4 - THE ARREST
The red and blue lights painted the concrete walls of the storage facility in violent, flashing strokes.
Two officers stepped out of their cruisers, hands resting on their holstered weapons.
“Step away from the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them!” the older officer shouted.
My mind raced. The cash in the glovebox. The photographs. The empty storage unit.
Marcus had set me up. He knew I would trace the delivery logs to Harbor Point. He knew I would break in. He tipped off the police, planted the cash in my unlocked car while I was inside the unit, and orchestrated the perfect frame job.
I slowly raised my hands and stepped back from the SUV.
“Officers, there is a very large amount of cash in that glovebox,” I said calmly, projecting my voice. “It does not belong to me. It was planted there.”
The older officer approached cautiously while his partner covered him. He looked past me into the open car door, spotting the banded stacks of hundreds.
“Turn around and place your hands on the vehicle,” he ordered.
I complied. The cold metal of handcuffs snapped tightly around my wrists.
“Daniel Brooks, you are being detained under suspicion of grand larceny and embezzlement.”
“Embezzlement?” I repeated, turning my head. “I own the company. I can't embezzle from myself.”
“Your business partner, Mr. Vance, filed a formal complaint this morning,” the officer stated coldly. “He provided financial records showing you diverted company funds—including a forty-thousand-dollar charitable tax write-off—into a private offshore account. The cash in this car seems to match his statement.”
Marcus had thought of everything.
He didn't just steal the books. He had been draining our company accounts for months, maybe years, and he was using the book donation as the final smoke screen to pin the missing funds on me.
They put me in the back of the cruiser.
As we drove away, I didn't care about the money. I didn't care about the business.
I cared about Emma.
“My daughter,” I said to the officer driving. “She’s at home with a neighbor. I need to make a phone call. If my partner is willing to frame me, I don't know what he’s willing to do to her.”
“You’ll get a call when we reach the precinct,” the officer replied evenly.
The holding cell smelled of bleach and stale sweat. They left me there for two hours. Every minute felt like an eternity. I paced the small concrete floor, picturing Marcus’s face.
Finally, a detective opened the heavy iron door.
“Your lawyer is here, Mr. Brooks.”
They led me into an interrogation room. My corporate attorney, David, was already sitting at the table, looking incredibly stressed.
“Daniel,” David sighed, rubbing his temples as I sat down. “It’s a bloodbath out there. Marcus has gone to the board. He produced ledgers showing you authorized the sale of the donated books to a private prep school in Connecticut and pocketed the cash.”
“It’s a lie, David. He forged the ledgers.”
“I know that, and you know that. But he has Principal Coleman backing him up. Coleman gave a sworn statement to the police an hour ago saying you threatened him when he confronted you about the missing books.”
I slammed my cuffed hands onto the metal table. “Coleman is in on it! He’s flying to the Caymans tonight!”
“Not anymore,” David said grimly. “Coleman canceled his flight. He’s playing the victim.”
I leaned back, my mind spinning. Marcus was tying up loose ends.
“What about Emma?” I asked, panic rising in my throat. “Did you check on her?”
David’s expression softened. “She’s fine. Your sister picked her up from the neighbor’s house. She’s safe at her aunt’s place.”
I let out a massive breath of relief. Thank God.
“David, we need evidence,” I said, lowering my voice. “Marcus left his money clip in the school’s storage room. I have it in my pocket. And there was a box of surveillance photos of me and Emma in that storage unit.”
David frowned. “The police logged your personal effects, Daniel. There was no money clip.”
I stared at him. “What? I put it in my coat pocket right after I found it.”
“It wasn't on the inventory sheet,” David insisted.
Someone at the precinct was on Marcus’s payroll. They had removed the only piece of physical evidence linking him to the school.
“We have one play,” David said quietly, leaning forward. “Mrs. Carter.”
I looked at him.
“If Coleman forced her to destroy that book, it means she knows the books never arrived,” David explained. “She knows Coleman is lying. If we can get her to testify, the whole house of cards falls apart.”
The door to the interrogation room opened. A uniform officer stepped in.
“Your bail was posted, Brooks. You’re free to go.”
I looked at David in shock. “You posted bail that fast?”
“I didn't post it,” David said, confused.
We walked out to the front desk. The desk sergeant handed me my wallet and phone in a plastic bag.
“Who posted my bail?” I asked.
The sergeant slid a piece of paper across the counter.
It was a cashier's check receipt.
The name at the bottom made my blood run cold.
Margaret Carter.
The teacher who tore up my daughter’s book had just bailed me out of jail.
May you like
And underneath her signature, written in rushed, frantic handwriting, was an address and a time:
8:00 PM. Come alone. They’re going to burn it all.
