Chapter 6 - The Unraveling of Susan and Heather
While Kyle was being processed at the county jail, I drove back to my house in Scottsdale with Detective Vance and two uniform police officers following closely behind.
It was time to clean out the rest of the garbage.
When I pulled into the driveway, I saw Susan and Heather standing near the front porch, frantically packing designer luggage into the trunk of Heather's leased convertible. They had spent the last two hours trying to load every expensive item they could carry—my jewelry, my designer handbags, even small luxury electronics from the living room—realizing their gravy train had crashed.
When they saw my car pull up, followed immediately by two marked police cruisers, Heather dropped a leather duffel bag onto the gravel.
Susan turned white as a sheet, her hands clutching a stolen pearl necklace I had bought in Tokyo.
"Chloe!" Susan squeaked, her voice cracking with terror. "What... why are there police officers here?!"
I stepped out of the car, adjusting my blazer with calm elegance.
"Officers," I said, pointing toward the open trunk of the convertible. "Those two women have broken into my residence and are currently attempting to steal personal property, including high-value luxury goods and legal documents belonging to my estate."
"What?!" Heather screamed, stepping forward aggressively. "That's a lie! We live here! My brother owns this house!"
"Your brother doesn't own a single brick of this property, Heather," I said, pulling out the home deed from my briefcase. "This house was purchased solely under my name prior to our marriage. Kyle's name is nowhere on the title. You are unauthorized trespassers."
Detective Vance walked up to the convertible, peered inside the trunk, and pulled out several of my personal jewelry boxes, along with five thousand dollars in cash that had been taken from my home safe.
"Ma'am," Detective Vance said to Susan, his voice firm and unyielding. "Did you take these items from the master bedroom safe?"
"I... I..." Susan stammered, looking frantically around as if waiting for Kyle to magically appear and save her. "Where is Kyle?! Call my son! Kyle will explain everything! He's coming back with three million dollars!"
"Your son is currently sitting in a holding cell at the central precinct," Detective Vance replied coldly. "He's facing multiple federal and state felony charges. And based on the text messages and financial logs recovered from his co-conspirators, both of you are implicated as accomplices in an attempted wire fraud and extortion scheme."
Heather let out a sharp, hysterical shriek. "Accomplices?! We didn't do anything! It was all Kyle's idea! He's the one who told us he was going to take the old man's farm! We just wanted our cut!"
"Heather! Shut up!" Susan screamed at her daughter, slapped her arm in a panic.
"Oh, so you admit you knew about the farm theft?" Detective Vance said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "That's a confession on record. Officers, take them in for questioning and process them for grand theft and criminal trespass."
The uniform officers stepped forward. Within seconds, Susan's and Heather's wrists were bound in steel.
Susan began to wail at the top of her lungs, her fake aristocratic poise completely vanishing as she was dragged toward the back seat of a police cruiser. "You can't do this to me! I'm an old woman! Chloe, you monster! After everything my son did for you! You ruined our lives!"
I walked up to the window of the police cruiser, looking down at Susan's tear-streaked, ugly face.
"Kyle didn't do anything for me, Susan," I said quietly, every word piercing her like a needle. "I paid for your life. I paid for your medications, your clothes, your food, and your home. And in return, you mocked my father because he smelled like hard work."
I leaned in closer to the glass.
"My father's hands are rough from honest earth. Yours are dirty from greed. Enjoy the smell of the holding cell, Susan. I hear it smells much worse than the countryside."
The officer closed the door, engaged the engine, and drove away, taking the screaming, hysterical remnants of my former in-laws into the dark depths of the justice system.
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I stood on my driveway in the quiet afternoon air. The breeze blew through the palm trees, carrying away the lingering scent of cheap cologne and poison.
For the first time in five years, my home felt truly clean.
