Part 7: The Police and the Gates
The rain began to fall just as the red and blue flashing lights of the police cruisers illuminated the iron gates of the Vance estate. The sleek vehicles swept up the long gravel driveway, their tires hissing against the wet stone, before coming to a halt around the main courtyard.
Inside the grand foyer, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Two uniformed officers stood near the front doors taking notes, while a third escorted Elena—who was still shaking and crying—out toward a patrol car to give her statement. The young woman had broken down completely once freed from the chair, confessing that my mother had paid her a substantial sum to help monitor Claire and restrict her movements under the guise of "household management."
Claire was seated in the living room on a plush velvet sofa, wrapped in a warm woolen blanket. A paramedic had checked her vitals, confirming that despite the immense stress and exhaustion, both she and the baby were remarkably healthy and unharmed.
I sat beside her, holding her hand tightly in both of mine, refusing to let go even for a second. Every time I looked at her pale face, a fresh wave of protective anger surged through me, mixed with deep remorse for ever bringing her to this oppressive house.
Across the room, my mother sat upright in a high-backed armchair. She hadn't been handcuffed yet, but two detectives stood over her, questioning her about the security logs, the locked control room, and the isolation of my wife. She maintained a stiff, defiant silence, refusing to answer their inquiries without her legal counsel present, though her sharp gaze occasionally flickered across the room toward us.
"Mr. Vance?" One of the detectives stepped away from my mother and walked over to where Claire and I sat. He held a small notepad in his hand, his expression professional and sympathetic. "We've taken the initial statements from both Mrs. Vance and the employee, Elena. We are going to need you and your wife to come down to the station later this morning to formalize everything, but given the circumstances, an emergency protection order has already been issued."
"Thank you, Detective," I replied, standing up to shake his hand. "We'll cooperate fully. But right now, my wife needs to rest in a hospital."
"Understood. We'll ensure you have a clear escort off the property," the detective said, nodding respectfully before turning back to his colleagues.
I turned back to Claire, kneeling down beside the sofa so I was eye-level with her. I gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, my heart aching as I saw the remnants of fear still lingering in her eyes.
"Are you ready to leave this place forever, Claire?" I asked softly.
May you like
She looked down at me, a small, fragile smile finally breaking through her exhaustion. She reached out, placing her warm hand gently against my cheek, and nodded.
"Take me home, Arthur. Just... not this one."
