Chapter 8 - The Handcuffs Come Out
Sheila began sobbing hysterically, throwing her arms around Austin’s neck while screaming at the two sheriff deputies.
“You can’t do this to us! We are respected members of this community!”
“Do you know who Austin works for? He is an associate partner at Braun & Haze Architecture!”
One of the plainclothes detectives who had been standing by the unmarked Ford stepped forward, pulling a gold badge from his jacket pocket.
“Mr. Austin Vance?” the detective asked calmly.
Austin pushed Sheila gently aside, his lower lip trembling as he looked at the detective’s badge.
“Yes... who are you?”
“I am Detective Reynolds from the Franklin County Prosecutor’s Special Investigations Unit,” the officer said, pulling a second folded document from his coat.
“I have an active warrant for your arrest issued this afternoon by the Franklin County Court of Common Pleas.”
Abigail let out a piercing shriek, clutching her chest and collapsing onto the porch wicker chair.
“Arrest? For what? What has my boy ever done?”
Detective Reynolds stepped up onto the porch, unhooking a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt.
“Austin Vance, you are under arrest for vehicular manslaughter, leaving the scene of a fatal motor vehicle accident, subornation of perjury, grand theft over one hundred thousand dollars, and mortgage fraud.”
Austin staggered backward until his spine hit the brick siding of the house.
“No... no, that’s impossible... that case was closed two years ago!”
“My sister took a plea deal! The court accepted her confession!”
“The court accepted a fraudulent confession procured through coercion and criminal conspiracy,” Detective Reynolds replied, grabbing Austin’s right arm and spinning him around against the wall.
The metallic click of the first handcuff locking around Austin’s wrist echoed loudly across the manicured lawn.
Click.
Austin flinched, groaning as the detective pulled his other arm behind his back.
Click.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Detective Reynolds began, his voice monotonous as he read the standard Miranda warning.
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...”
“Summer! Summer, tell them!” Austin screamed, twisting his head around, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.
“Tell them it was you! You signed the papers! You took the deal!”
“You promised you would protect me!”
I stood at the bottom of the steps, watching the silver handcuffs bite into his wrists—the exact same wrists that had held a steering wheel while a pedestrian died in the dark.
“I spent seven hundred and thirty days in Marysville Correctional protecting you, Austin,” I said, my voice steady, clear, and cold.
“I gave you two years of my youth, my reputation, and my freedom.”
“And the very first thing you did when I walked through that door yesterday was spray me with rubbing alcohol and steal my inheritance.”
“Summer, please!” Abigail wailed from the wicker chair, crawling toward the porch steps on her knees.
“He’s your brother! Your twin brother! You will destroy his entire life!”
“He destroyed his own life the moment he got behind the wheel drunk,” Marcus Vance barked, stepping between Abigail and me.
“And as for you, Lawrence, and you, Abigail,” Marcus continued, pointing a stern finger at my cowering parents.
“You are currently being investigated as co-conspirators for filing fraudulent title instruments.”
“If you don't pack your suitcases within the next twenty minutes, Deputy Miller will transport you directly to the county lockup alongside your son.”
Sheila stood frozen on the porch, her designer sweater damp with her own tears, looking between her handcuffed husband and the gathered crowd of neighbors who were recording every second on their smartphones.
The delivery men who had brought the gilded crib were already loading it back into their truck, having realized no one was going to sign the delivery manifest.
“Austin!” Sheila screamed as Detective Reynolds guided him down the steps toward the waiting police vehicle.
“What about the mortgage? What about the baby’s room? What about our life?”
Austin didn't answer her.
He hung his head, his expensive loafers dragging through the grass, his shoulders shaking with violent, terrified sobs.
The detective pushed his head down gently and placed him in the back of the cruiser.
The heavy door slammed shut with a definitive, echoing thud.
Deputy Miller checked his watch and turned toward Lawrence, Abigail, and Sheila.
“You have eighteen minutes remaining on the judicial clearance order, folks.”
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“I suggest you grab some trash bags and start filling them with whatever clothes you can carry.”
“Because at precisely five-fifteen, the locksmith is changing every cylinder on this property.”
