Chapter 4 - The Arrest at Elm Street
The hammer fell on a chilly Thursday afternoon.
I was sitting in Evelyn Vance’s office, finalizing the civil lawsuits for identity theft and financial recovery, when Detective Ramirez called my cell phone.
“Ms. Sterling,” Ramirez said, his voice clipped and official. “I’m calling to inform you that felony arrest warrants have been executed. We just took Brianna Sterling-Vance into custody at her residence on Elm Street.”
My breath hitched. “Did she resist?”
“Her husband, Kyle Vance, attempted to obstruct the officers,” Ramirez added. “He was also taken into custody for interference with law enforcement and outstanding warrants regarding unpaid municipal fines. Furthermore, during the arrest, officers recovered several financial documents in your name inside the residence. Our economic crimes unit is now executing a search warrant at your parents’ address.”
A lump formed in my throat. “My parents?”
“Your father attempted to destroy paper statements in a home shredder when officers arrived,” Ramirez said dryly. “He has been brought in for questioning regarding obstruction of justice and accessory to forgery.”
I sat back in my chair, staring at the Chicago skyline out the window. It felt surreal. Within forty-eight hours, the comfortable, nuclear family that had sat around a dining room table eating roast chicken had been completely dismantled by their own greed.
Evelyn handed me a warm cup of tea. “Do not feel guilty, Mia. They built this house of cards. They chose to light the match. You simply refused to burn inside it with them.”
An hour later, my aunt—the one who had sat silently cutting her chicken during the dinner ambush—called my phone from a restricted number. I answered, putting it on speakerphone so Evelyn could listen.
“Mia! Oh my God, Mia!” Aunt Clara wailed into the phone. “You have to stop this! They just dragged Brianna out of her house in handcuffs in front of her neighbors! The children are crying! Your mother is having a panic attack!”
“Aunt Clara,” I said coldly. “Brianna stole my identity. She forged my name on a hundred-thousand-dollar loan and multiple credit cards.”
“She’s your sister!” Clara screamed, her voice shrill with indignation. “Families make mistakes! You have money! You could have just paid the debt and handled this privately! Why are you being so vicious?!”
“Where was this passion when they were stealing from me, Aunt Clara?” I asked, my tone deadly quiet. “You sat at that table. You knew what they were doing. You didn't say a word to protect me.”
“Because it was none of my business!” Clara shot back.
“Then my response is none of your business either,” I replied. “If anyone else in this family calls me to demand I drop charges, I will have my attorney add them to the civil racketeering lawsuit. Am I making myself clear?”
May you like
Clara gasped, speechless. I hung up the phone and handed it back to Evelyn.
“Well handled,” Evelyn approved with a thin, sharp smile. “Now, let’s go to the bail hearing.”
