Chapter 7 - Handcuffs on the Carpet
Detective Miller and two armed officers stepped smoothly past the crystal displays, approaching Mauro and Patricia.
“Mauro Vance and Patricia Vance,” Detective Miller announced loudly, pulling a red-stamped judicial warrant from his jacket. “You are under arrest.”
The entire ballroom erupted into gasps of horror. Camera flashbulbs from news reporters began strobing incessantly against the marble walls.
“Arrest?!” Mauro screamed, taking two frantic steps backward, almost knocking over the champagne fountain. “On what grounds?! This is an outrageous personal attack by my crazy wife!”
“You are under arrest for First-Degree Attempted Murder by Chemical Poisoning, RICO Wire Fraud, Grand Larceny, and First-Degree Identity Theft,” Detective Miller declared coldly.
Two uniformed officers stepped forward, grabbing Mauro’s arms, twisting them behind his back.
CLICK-CLACK.
The heavy steel handcuffs locked tightly around his wrists. Mauro let out a pathetic, strangled shriek as he was forced down onto his knees directly onto the plush red carpet.
“Get your hands off my son!” Patricia shrieked, lunging forward, her claws aimed at Detective Miller’s face.
The second officer intercepted her instantly, grabbing her forearms, forcing her hands behind her back, and clicking a second pair of steel cuffs around her wrists.
“Patricia Vance,” the officer barked. “You are under arrest for Felony Assault on Law Enforcement, RICO Financial Conspiracy, and Accessory to Poisoning!”
“Mauro! Do something!” Patricia wept hysterically, her expensive hair falling into her face, her high-society mask completely obliterated in front of every business rival she had spent twenty years trying to impress. “Tell them! Tell them it’s a lie!”
“We retrieved the dark-web purchase logs, the chemical vials from your office safe, and the full bank wire transfers from your Ponzi accounts two hours ago, Mr. Vance,” Detective Miller added, pulling Mauro up by his collar. “You’re done.”
Jamie was grabbed by a female officer near the side exit as she tried to sneak away with three stolen designer handbags from the VIP cloakroom.
As the police marched Mauro, Patricia, and Jamie down the central aisle of the ballroom in heavy chains—past two hundred staring, disgusted elite guests—Mauro turned his head toward me one last time.
Tears of pure, terrifying panic streamed down his sweaty face.
“Rebecca!” he sobbed pathetically. “Rebecca, please! I love you! I was wrong! Forgive me! Talk to the police!”
I stood tall on the stage, holding my head high, meeting his eyes with a cold, absolute, and unshakeable silence.
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I didn't utter a single word. I simply took a slow sip of my sparkling water as the heavy doors of the hotel closed behind them forever.
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