Chapter 8 - The Arrest
Troopers moved with military efficiency, weapons drawn, breaching both the front entrance and the rear deck within seconds.
"Arthur Carver! Step away from the vehicle! Hands where we can see them!"
I watched from the safety of Henderson’s porch as two towering state troopers pinned Arthur face-down onto the hood of his own Mercedes SUV. His face was mashed into the freezing metal, his expensive shearling coat pulled roughly behind his back as steel cuffs ratcheted around his wrists.
"Do you know who I am?!" Arthur roared, his voice echoing off the spruce trees. "I was on the governor's advisory board! Call the commissioner! This is a domestic misunderstanding!"
"Save it for the magistrate, Artie," a trooper barked, shoving him mercilessly into the barred back seat of the cruiser. "We’ve got fifty thousand witnesses who watched your stepdaughter's stream, including the dispatch supervisor’s daughter."
Paramedics swarmed around me on Henderson’s porch. A cervical collar was secured around my neck; scissors sheared through my frozen clothes to apply warming pads and monitor leads.
"Blood pressure is 80 over 50, heart rate 130," the lead medic called out, pushing an IV line into my right forearm with practiced precision. "Bilateral rib fractures, suspected left hemothorax, left humerus fracture. We need a rapid transport to Providence Alaska Medical Center."
As they loaded me onto the gurney and wheeled me toward the flashing amber of the ambulance, Lily stumbled out onto the front porch in her stocking feet, tears streaking her mascara.
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"Emily!" she sobbed, holding her hands out. "I didn't know! I swear I didn't know he pushed you! I thought you just walked out!"
I looked at her through the oxygen mask. I saw the pure, unadulterated selfishness in her eyes—she wasn't crying for me; she was crying because her social media career, her brand deals, and her curated fairy-tale life had just imploded into a viral crime scene.
