Chapter 7 - The Raid on the Lakefront
The squad cars pulled directly onto the gravel apron, cutting off the exit for every parked luxury vehicle.
Four uniformed deputies stepped out, led by Detective Morrison—a towering, broad-shouldered investigator with graying temples and a no-nonsense gaze. He adjusted his gun belt, walked past the stunned valets, and strode directly onto the patio.
“Good evening, folks,” Morrison announced, his voice echoing off the timber beams. “Party’s over. Everyone who does not reside on this property needs to proceed calmly to the valet station, retrieve your keys, and vacate the premises immediately.”
Panic erupted among the high-society guests. Arthur Davies from the State Bank muttered an apology, ducked his head, and hurried toward his Mercedes. Socialites gathered their designer clutches, whispering frantically behind their hands as they scurried toward the driveway, desperate to avoid having their names associated with a police raid.
Colin tried to intercept Morrison, his hands held up in supplication. “Detective, there’s been a massive misunderstanding! This is a civil dispute between my estranged wife and me! The family court is handling it on Monday! You have no jurisdiction to intervene in a marital asset dispute!”
Morrison didn’t even slow down. He brushed past Colin and stopped six inches in front of Judith.
“Judith Mercer?” Morrison asked.
Judith puffed out her chest, clutching my grandmother’s pearls like a shield. “I am Mrs. Mercer. Officer, my son is a respected businessman! This girl is mentally unstable! She’s fabricating stories because she couldn’t keep her marriage together!”
“Ma’am,” Morrison said with chilling calm, unhooking a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Judith staggered backward, nearly tripping over the edge of the stone hearth. “What? Are you insane? On what grounds?”
“You are under arrest for Attempted Aggravated Assault in the Second Degree, Reckless Endangerment, Grand Larceny, and Criminal Trespass,” Morrison said evenly.
Colin stepped between them, his face white as chalk. “Assault? That’s absurd! Rachel fell down the stairs! It was an accident! I was right there, I witnessed it!”
“We know you were there, Colin,” I said, stepping forward with my cane.
At that moment, the large outdoor projection screen that Colin had set up on the lawn to display his promotional marina slides suddenly flickered. Marcus, Dana’s AV technician, had plugged his laptop into the main auxiliary feed inside the garage.
The screen illuminated with blinding clarity.
The high-definition video of the basement appeared before the remaining guests, the caterers, and the police deputies.
There was Judith Mercer on a seventy-inch screen, her face twisted in venom, shoving both hands into my back.
The sickening sound of the impact and my body tumbling down the wooden stairs echoed through the outdoor speakers.
Then came the audio of Judith screaming, *“This belongs to my son, you selfish little orphan!”* followed seconds later by Colin kneeling beside my bleeding, broken form, whispering into the microphone: *“You should have just given it to her.”*
The silence on the patio was absolute.
Colin looked at the giant screen, then at the deputies, then at me. His knees visibly buckled.
“Mom...” Colin stammered, his voice trembling as he backed away from Judith as if she were radioactive. “Mom, you... you told me she tripped. You told me you just tried to grab her!”
Judith whipped around, staring at her son in pure disbelief. “Colin? How dare you! You knew! You told me to find the deed! You told me we needed the lake house to pay off your Manhattan investors or you were going to prison!”
“Shut up!” Colin screamed, lunging toward her before two deputies grabbed his arms and slammed him face-first against the fieldstone wall. “Shut your mouth, Judith!”
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“Keep talking, Judith,” Morrison said calmly, clicking the steel cuffs around Judith’s wrists. “Every single word is being recorded on my body camera.”
***
