Chapter 6 - Draining the Swamp
The lobby of the Grand Regent Hotel was a picture of old-money luxury—crystal chandeliers, plush velvet carpets, and a quiet, whispering elite. It was exactly the kind of place Evelyn Higgins had always dreamed of living in, a far cry from the modest, cramped suburban bungalow she actually owned. She had used a portion of my stolen savings to book the presidential suite for a month, celebrating her impending retirement as a wealthy property owner.
The elevator doors opened on the top floor. I walked down the quiet hallway, flanked by Detective Miller and two plainclothes officers. Marcus had insisted on coming along, standing as a quiet, protective presence behind me.
I reached Room 902. I didn't knock gently. I slammed my fist against the heavy oak door.
A moment later, the door swung open. Evelyn Higgins stood there, holding a glass of expensive champagne, wearing a brand-new designer silk robe she had undoubtedly bought that afternoon with my credit card.
When she saw me standing there, alive, free, and surrounded by law enforcement, the champagne glass slipped from her hand. It shattered on the marble floor of the suite, a pale yellow puddle spreading across her expensive shoes.
“Alice...” she whispered, her voice trembling so violently her teeth clicked. “What... what are you doing here? Where is Thomas?”
“Thomas is currently sitting in a federal holding cell, Evelyn,” I said, stepping into the suite without asking, forcing her to stumble backward. “And you’re about to join him.”
“No! I didn't do anything!” she shrieked, her face twisting into a mask of pure panic as Detective Miller stepped forward with a warrant. “Thomas handled everything! He told me it was legal! He said you agreed to give us the money because of all the stress we put up with!”
“You signed the offshore corporate ledger for E.H. Properties LLC at exactly 6:42 PM, Mrs. Higgins,” Detective Miller stated, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “You accepted three hundred and fifty thousand dollars of stolen funds derived from identity theft and corporate forgery. That makes you a primary accessory to grand larceny, bank fraud, and criminal conspiracy.”
“Alice, please!” Evelyn dropped to her knees on the marble floor, grabbing the hem of my suit pants, her expensive makeup running down her face in ugly, black streaks. All the arrogance, all the smug superiority she had weaponized against me for years vanished in an instant, leaving behind nothing but a pathetic, broken old woman. “Don't do this to me! I’m Thomas’s mother! We’re family! I’ll give the money back! Every single dollar! Just don't let them take me to jail!”
I looked down at her, feeling absolutely no pity, no anger—only a profound sense of closure.
“We were never family, Evelyn,” I said quietly, pulling my leg away from her grasp. “Family doesn't forge your signature. Family doesn't try to lock you away in a psychiatric ward to steal your home. And family certainly doesn't value your life at two million dollars in an insurance policy.”
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I turned to Detective Miller. “Take her away.”
The officers lifted her from the floor as she screamed and wailed, her voice echoing down the luxury hallway as she was led away in disgrace, leaving behind the empty suite and the broken remnants of her stolen dream.
