Logan flinched. He looked at the front door.
“Expecting company?” I asked.
“No,” he whispered.
“That’s funny,” I said. “Because I invited a few people. They should be here any second.”
Blue and red lights flashed through the front window, strobing across the dining room walls, illuminating Logan’s sweat-drenched face in a grotesque disco of consequences.
Part 4: The Arrest
The heavy thud of boots on the porch steps was followed by a sharp, authoritative knock that rattled the pictures on the walls.
“Police! Open up!”
Logan looked for an exit. He glanced at the back door, calculating the distance.
“Don’t,” I said. “Mike from the garage is parked in the alley. He’s watching the back. And Henderson is out front. You’re surrounded by the people you underestimated.”
My mother opened the front door. She looked confused, terrified, clutching her iPad where the email I sent sat in her inbox.
Three officers stepped in. They were grim, efficient. Behind them, flanked by two detectives in suits, was Carolyn Pierce.
She looked immaculate. Her hair was done. Her makeup was perfect. She wore a black trench coat like armor. She didn’t look like a mother coming to save her son. She looked like a queen coming to execute a traitor.
“Logan Pierce?” the lead officer asked.
Logan backed away until he hit the kitchen counter. He grabbed a knife from the block, then dropped it as if it burned him. “This is insane! She’s crazy! She cut the lines herself! She’s trying to frame me because I asked for a divorce! I’m the victim here!”
“Actually, son,” a voice cut through his panic like a scalpel.
Carolyn stepped into the room. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t look at Sarah or my mother. She looked only at him.
“I saw the lines,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Henderson showed me. And I provided the detectives with the receipt for the heavy-duty wire cutters you bought on my Amazon Prime account last week. You really should log out of shared devices, Logan. It’s sloppy. And using my account? That was just rude.”
Logan stared at his mother. The betrayal was absolute. His jaw dropped. “You… you called them? You called the police on me?”
“I protect the family name,” Carolyn said coldly. “A murderer is not part of this family. A murderer gets caught. A Pierce does not get caught. But you… you got caught before you even started. You failed on both counts. You are a liability.”
“Mom!” Logan screamed. “Help me! Don’t let them take me!”
“You are under arrest for three counts of Attempted Murder in the First Degree,” the detective said, stepping forward with handcuffs.
Logan fought. It was brief and pathetic. He tried to shove the officer, but he was tackled to the linoleum floor of my mother’s kitchen. The table shook. The wine glasses rattled.
“You’re dead, Claire!” Logan yelled as they hauled him up, his face pressed against the floor, saliva dripping from his mouth. “You hear me? You’re dead! I’ll finish it!”
I walked over to him. I looked down.
“Actually, Logan,” I said softly. “According to your email, I’m already buried. So you’re just yelling at a ghost.”
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