Chapter 7 - The Search for the Emerald
Lorraine let out a shriek that sounded almost inhuman. “What?! How dare you! Officer, he is lying! He has lost his mind!”
“You knew we were broke!” Richard screamed at her, pointing a shaking, manic finger at his wife of thirty-two years. “Who insisted on keeping the lease on the Range Rover? Who demanded we host a fifty-thousand-dollar christening party for the neighbors to see? You told me this morning that if I didn’t find thirty grand to pay the caterers and the private orchestra, you would file for divorce and take whatever I had left! You told me Samuel was the perfect distraction because ‘nobody would ever believe a common carpenter over us’!”
The ugly, rotten soul of the Whitmore marriage was laid completely bare on that front porch. There was no love there. No honor. No loyalty. Just an insatiable hunger for status, fueled by vanity and supported by lies.
Evan closed his eyes, a single tear cutting through the dust on his cheek. He reached out and took my hand, squeezing it so hard his knuckles ached. “I’m sorry, Nat,” he whispered to me, his voice shattered. “I’m so sorry. I brought you into this family.”
“You didn’t know, Evan,” I said softly, though the pain in my chest was suffocating. “You aren’t them.”
My dad walked over to Evan. He placed a heavy, calloused hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder. Evan flinched, expecting anger, but when he looked up, my dad was looking at him with gentle, fatherly compassion.
“A man is judged by his own hammer, Evan,” Dad said quietly. “Not by the crooked nails his father drove. You stay standing for your wife and your boy. That’s what matters.”
Evan broke down, burying his face in his hands, weeping openly on the porch.
Meanwhile, Officer Ruiz had moved with lightning speed. She stepped forward, caught Richard by his arm, pulled him up from the floor, and spun him around against the brick wall.
*Click. Clack.*
The handcuffs snapped shut around Richard’s wrists.
“Richard Whitmore, you are under arrest for grand larceny, insurance fraud, and filing a false report,” Officer Ruiz stated formally, reciting his Miranda rights while Richard continued to babble and weep against the rough brick.
“And what about the necklace?” Lorraine demanded, her eyes glittering with a sudden, desperate greed. Even now, with her husband in irons and her home facing foreclosure, her fingers twitched toward the green velvet box. “That is my mother’s heirloom! That belongs to me! Officer, hand that over immediately!”
Officer Ruiz turned, holding the box away. “This is evidence in an active felony fraud investigation, Mrs. Whitmore. It will be logged into the evidence locker at the precinct.”
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“You can’t do that!” Lorraine yelled. “It’s worth three hundred thousand dollars! It’s my only asset!”
“Actually, Lorraine,” Victoria Vance interrupted, checking a tablet she had pulled from her briefcase. “You might want to take a closer look at those stones.”
