Chapter 8 - The Shattered Glass
The final gasp of Jessica’s entitlement came on the first night of the winter freeze.
David and I were sitting by the fireplace, drinking tea, while Jacob was asleep in his room. The wind was howling off the lake, rattling the windowpanes.
Suddenly, there was a loud, sharp crash from the back of the cabin.
David and I bolted upright. The sound came from the sunporch—Jacob’s studio. I felt my blood run cold.
"Stay here," David whispered, grabbing a heavy brass fire poker from the hearth.
I ignored him, following closely behind as we crept toward the back of the house. The glass door leading to the sunporch had been shattered. Cold air was whipping into the room, blowing Jacob’s sketches across the floor.
Standing in the middle of the room, shivering in a cheap coat, was Jessica.
She looked a mess. Her hair was unkempt, her makeup smeared, and she was frantically tearing through the drawers of the wooden supply cabinet David had built.
"Where is it?!" she screamed when I turned on the lights. She lunged toward us, pointing a trembling finger at David. "Where is the ledger?! I know you kept it here!"
"You broke into my house to steal a book, Jessica?" David asked, his voice echoing with pity more than anger.
"Mom's lawyer says if we can destroy the original documents, we can cast doubt on the copies!" she cried, frantically throwing tubes of paint onto the floor. "I’m losing my condo, Dad! Mom is living in a two-bedroom apartment! You ruined us! Give me the book!"
"You ruined yourselves," I stepped forward, my protective instincts flaring. "Get out of my son's studio."
"Shut up, Sarah!" Jessica snarled, picking up a jar of dirty paint water. For a terrifying second, I thought she was going to throw it at Jacob's new paintings on the drying rack.
"Jessica, stop!" David’s voice boomed, carrying the authority of a judge handing down a sentence. "The ledger isn't here. It’s in a safety deposit vault at Arthur’s law firm. And even if you destroyed it, the district attorney already has the digital scans. It’s over. You have nothing left to steal, and nothing left to bargain with."
Jessica froze, the jar of dirty water slipping from her fingers and shattering on the floor. The fight drained out of her entirely, leaving only a hollow, pathetic shell. She sank to her knees amidst the broken glass and spilled water, sobbing uncontrollably.
David didn't yell. He didn't gloat. He simply pulled out his phone and dialed the local police.
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"There's an intruder at my property," he told the dispatcher. "Yes, she’s unarmed. No, I don't think she's a threat anymore. She’s just a trespasser."
When the police arrived and escorted a weeping Jessica out into the freezing night, I swept up the glass in the sunporch. David stood by the drying rack, carefully checking each of Jacob's paintings to ensure they were safe. They were untouched. The storm had come inside, but it hadn't ruined the art.
