Chapter 8 - The Cornered RatTwo weeks passed. The silence in my life was a profound, healing blessing. Contractors were already at work repairing the fire damage, and my father had temporarily moved into the house to act as my personal bodyguard.
But behind the walls of the county jail, Ethan’s world was violently collapsing.
Without his phone, his uniform, or his freedom, his secrets finally caught up to him.
My father and I were sitting in the District Attorney’s office when we heard the news. Assistant DA Sarah Jenkins, a sharp, no-nonsense prosecutor, slid a thick manila folder across her desk.
"It gets worse for him, Claire," Jenkins said, a grim satisfaction in her voice. "We seized Ethan's electronic devices and bank records as part of the arson investigation. Your father was right about the gambling debt, but he underestimated the scale."
I opened the folder. The numbers were staggering. Ethan owed nearly half a million dollars to an offshore syndicate.
"Because Ethan has been locked up and unable to make payments, his bookies started looking for leverage," Jenkins explained. "Three days ago, they found Margaret."
My blood ran cold. "Is she..."
"She's alive," Jenkins assured me. "But they cornered her outside a motel in Richmond. They broke her arm and told her that if Ethan didn't pay up by the end of the month, they'd come back for the other one. She went straight to the police, crying about how her son's gambling ruined her life."
"She turned on him," my father realized, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
"Like a rabid dog," Jenkins nodded. "Margaret is terrified. She gave us everything. She confessed to helping Ethan gaslight you. She admitted that Ethan planned to have you committed to steal the trust money to pay off the syndicate. She’s willing to testify against him in court in exchange for police protection."
Ethan’s master plan had imploded. His own mother, the woman who had helped him orchestrate my nightmare, was going to be the nail in his coffin.
"His defense attorney, Marcus Thorne, just called me an hour ago," Jenkins said, leaning back in her chair. "He wants to offer a plea deal."
"No," I said instantly, my voice hard.
Jenkins held up a hand. "Hear me out. He offered to plead guilty to the assault and the fraud. But he wants the arson charge dropped, and he wants you to agree to a post-birth visitation schedule. Supervised, of course."
My father tensed, but he let me speak.
"Supervised visitation?" I repeated, feeling a hot flare of maternal rage. "He threw me against a wall when I was carrying his child. He tried to burn my house down while I was inside it. He viewed my baby as nothing more than a pawn to steal my money."
May you like
I leaned across the desk, looking the prosecutor dead in the eye.
"Tell Marcus Thorne that I reject the deal. I want a trial. I want everything he did to me on the public record. And I will see Ethan Vance rot in a cell before he ever gets to lay eyes on my child."
Related Stories
