Chapter 7 - The Blue Lights
Two black-and-white cruisers from the county sheriff’s department screeched to a halt in front of the driveway, their red and blue strobe lights painting the manicured lawns in unnatural colors.
Within thirty seconds, two deputies had their hands on their utility belts as they moved through the open side gate.
"Drop whatever is in your hands and step away from the fire!" the lead deputy barked, his voice booming with authority.
Tanya didn't move. She stood there, completely paralyzed by the sudden arrival of actual consequences. "Officer, this is my property! My husband is trespassing—"
"Ma'am, step away from the open flame right now!" the younger deputy commanded, moving around the perimeter of the patio to cut off her path to the house.
Andre immediately took three steps backward, raised his empty hands to chest height, and spoke in a clear, calm voice. "Deputy, I am the homeowner. My name is Andre Carter. My ID is in my back pocket. I have video evidence of the suspect destroying legal property with an accelerant."
"Andre, shut up!" Tanya screamed, lunging toward him.
"Ma'am, stop!" The lead deputy grabbed Tanya’s arm, spinning her around and forcing her hands behind her back.
Click-clink.
The sound of steel handcuffs locking around Tanya's wrists seemed to suck all the remaining oxygen out of the backyard.
"Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am? I'm a senior partner at Vaughn & Sterling! I pay your salary!" Tanya thrashed against the deputy's grip, her designer sweater twisting awkwardly around her shoulders. "Andre, tell them to let me go! Andre!"
Andre didn't say a word. He walked over to the garden hose, turned the spigot, and sprayed a heavy stream of water directly into the fire pit. White steam billowed up, hissing violently as the blackened, charred remnants of his paperwork turned into soggy mush.
Most of it was ruined. His military discharge papers, the title to his grandfather’s vintage truck, old tax returns. But Tanya didn't know one crucial detail: Andre had digitized every single vital document onto an encrypted hard drive locked in his office desk two years ago.
"Is there anyone else in the residence?" the deputy asked Andre.
"My stepson, Devin, is down at the neighborhood park. My daughter, Maya, is in the front truck," Andre answered cleanly. "I want to press full charges for property destruction, domestic disturbance, and reckless endangerment."
Tanya stared at him, her eyes wide with utter shock. "You're pressing charges? On your wife?"
"You stopped being my wife the second you treated my child like garbage," Andre said.
As the deputies escorted a screaming, cursing Tanya down the driveway toward the back of the cruiser, neighbors began stepping out onto their porches, phones held high, recording every humiliating second of the neighborhood association treasurer being loaded into a police car.
Andre walked out front to the truck. He tapped on the glass.
Maya unlocked the door and looked at him, her face pale. "Is she going to jail?"
"For tonight, yes," Andre said, opening the door and letting her breathe the fresh air.
May you like
Just then, Devin walked up the sidewalk, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his shoulders slumped in total defeat. He stopped at the edge of the driveway, looking at the police cruisers, then at Andre, and finally at Maya.
"Dad," Devin mumbled, his voice breaking. "Where am I supposed to go?"
