Chapter 8 - Confrontation at Counter 48
Every head in the lobby whipped around toward Counter 4.
Patricia froze mid-sentence, her hand hovering over the stack of fraudulent documents spread across the counter. When she turned her head and saw me charging toward her across the marble floor—my face flushed, my clothes rumpled, and my eyes burning with an incandescent rage she had never witnessed before—the smug expression on her face dissolved into sheer, unadulterated panic.
“Ethan… what are you…?” Patricia stammered, taking a step backward as I slammed both palms down onto the wooden counter, inches away from the fake quitclaim deed.
“You sick, manipulative monster,” I breathed, my voice shaking with a fury so intense it felt entirely detached from my own body. I grabbed the stack of papers off the counter before the clerk could stamp them, flipping them open to examine the signature line.
Sure enough, my name had been meticulously traced and forged, stamped with a fraudulent notary seal bearing the license number of Derek’s law firm.
Courtney stepped forward, trying to put on a brave face, though her voice wobbled. “Ethan, don't make a scene! Mom is just trying to protect the family asset! You’re irrational because of Hannah’s mental breakdown, you don't know what you’re—”
“Shut up, Courtney!” I roared, turning on my heel to glare at my sister with such venom that she instantly stepped back behind a pillar, dropping her iced coffee onto the floor. “I know everything! I know you locked my wife in a bedroom and starved her. I know you bruised her wrists and threatened to steal my son. And now you thought you could waltz down here and rob us of our home while we were in the hospital fighting for our lives?!”
The clerk behind Counter 4’s eyes went wide as saucers. She quickly pulled the microphone toward her, whispering frantically to building security.
Patricia tried to recover her composure, drawing herself up to her full height and adjusting her trench coat with trembling fingers. “Don't you dare speak to your sister and me that way, Ethan! We raised you! We gave up everything for you! That house belongs to the Parker family lineage, not to some manipulative, ungrateful outsider who traps you with a baby!”
“That house belongs to Hannah and me,” I said, holding the forged papers up in front of her face. “And right now, these papers are going straight into the hands of the police officers standing behind you.”
I didn't even have to turn around. Officer Davis and two downtown precinct patrolmen had already entered the lobby, pushing through the crowd with their hands resting casually on their duty belts.
“Patricia Parker?” Officer Davis asked, stepping up directly behind my mother.
Patricia spun around, her mouth opening in indignation. “This is a civil property dispute! You have no right—!”
“You’re under arrest for grand larceny, forgery of official legal documents, and identity fraud,” Davis said crisply, pulling out his handcuffs. “Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.”
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Courtney shrieked as the cold steel cuffs snapped around her mother’s wrists. Derek tried to slowly back away toward the exit doors, but a plainclothes detective who had arrived with Davis instantly stepped into his path, blocking his escape and grabbing him by the arm.
“You too, son,” the detective said smoothly, slapping cuffs onto Derek’s wrists as well. “Accessory to fraud and falsification of court-officer seals. Let’s take a little walk downtown.”
