Chapter 6 - Caught in the Act
The blue lights of three police cruisers painted the driveway of my suburban home in strobing flashes of midnight blue and sharp white. Officer Vance and six officers didn't bother knocking; they kicked the front door wide open, weapons drawn and ready.
“Police! Nobody move!” Officer Vance’s voice boomed through the quiet hallway.
I walked in right behind them, my hands casually tucked into my jacket pockets. The scene inside the master bedroom was pure chaos. Uncle George was standing on a chair trying to unscrew an expensive designer wall-mounted television, while Aunt Beatrice frantically dumped jewelry boxes into a burlap sack. Cousin Mason was holding a crowbar, frozen like a deer in headlights as red laser dots from police sidearms danced across his chest.
“Well, well,” I said, stepping into the bedroom. “Interior decorating at two in the morning? You guys really don't know when to quit, do you?”
Aunt Beatrice dropped the jewelry sack, her face twisting into an ugly, venomous sneer. “You ungrateful little rat! Call these cops off right now! We are your family! We raised you after your father died!”
“You raised me to be an ATM for your gambling debts and lazy lifestyles,” I replied coldly. “And more importantly, you terrorized my wife and starved my infant son while living rent-free in a house I built with my own sweat and blood.”
Mason dropped the crowbar with a heavy metallic clatter, raising his hands slowly. “Come on, Connor, let's be reasonable. We're blood. You can't put family in prison over a few misunderstandings and family disputes!”
Officer Vance stepped forward, snapping steel handcuffs onto Mason’s wrists with practiced efficiency. “Mr. Bradley is entirely reasonable, son. That’s why he called us before you could loot the place clean. You're looking at felony burglary, breaking and entering, and conspiracy to commit grand theft. That’s a guaranteed ten years in state prison.”
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As the officers hauled my relatives out through the front door—cursing, screaming, and spitting threats into the humid night air—I stood in the center of the master bedroom. The room looked ransacked, but looking around, I felt no sadness. Only a profound sense of cleansing.
The rot was finally being hauled away to the incinerator.
