Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
"Caleb Westwood, Madison Cole," Detective Vance said, his boots clicking heavily against the hardwood as he stepped into the dressing room. "Don't move. Either of you."
"Frank, wait! This is a family matter!" Margaret shrieked, rushing between the detective and her youngest son. "You know us! You know the Westwoods! This is insane—a dead woman's erratic recording isn't legal evidence!"
"It's more than enough for reasonable suspicion, Margaret," Vance replied coldly. He motioned to the two uniformed officers behind him. "Secure the room. Nobody touches that phone or that safe. And call the forensic team to sweep this closet for latent prints."
"No! Get your hands off me!" Madison shrieked as an officer grabbed her wrists, pulling her arms behind her back. The heavy metal click of the handcuffs snapped around her slender, diamond-encrusted wrists. "Adrian! Tell them! I loved you! I did everything for you! Claire was going to destroy this family! She was going to report the fraud and ruin the Westwood name!"
Adrian didn't even look at her. He felt dead inside, as if the last three years of his life had been a vivid, twisted fever dream.
He turned his gaze slowly to his younger brother.
Caleb was trembling violently. Sweat ran down his temple, dripping onto his silk tie.
"Adrian... brother... listen to me," Caleb stuttered, stepping backward toward the open window. "I was trapped. I owed six million to people in Vegas. They were going to break my legs. Madison came to me... she said she had a way out. She said Claire found the shell company accounts I set up..."
"You helped the woman who killed my wife," Adrian said. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it rang louder than a thunderclap in the small space.
"I didn't know she was going to cut the brake lines!" Caleb cried out, tears streaming down his flushed face. "I thought she was just going to steal the flash drive from her car! I swear to God, Adrian! I didn't know Claire was going to die!"
"You knew," Natalie said, her voice dripping with venom. She walked over to Caleb, her eyes sharp and merciless. "You knew Claire was going down that mountain road in the middle of a storm. You knew, and you sat at the dinner table the next morning and cried fake tears over her casket."
"Take him," Vance ordered.
The second officer stepped forward, grabbing Caleb's arm and pinning him against the velvet ottoman before slapping the cuffs on his wrists.
"Mother! Do something!" Caleb screamed as he was hauled toward the door. "Call the lawyers! Call Vance's chief! Mother!"
Margaret stood frozen in the center of the room. Her expensive makeup seemed to crack under the harsh light. For years, she had fought to keep the Westwood family name pristine, burying rumors, smoothing over scandals, and pushing Adrian into the arms of a woman she believed was safe, wealthy, and controllable.
Now, her youngest son was being led away in handcuffs for murder conspiracy, and her family's dark underbelly was about to be plastered across every headline in the country.
She turned to Adrian, her hands shaking. "Adrian... my boy... we have to manage this. The press downstairs... the guests..."
Adrian looked at his mother—really looked at her—for the first time in three years.
"Get out," Adrian said quietly.
"What?" Margaret gasped.
"Get out of my house, Mother," Adrian said, his voice flat and merciless. "You pushed Madison into my life. You told me to stop asking questions about Claire. You told me I was crazy for grieving."
"I was trying to protect you!" Margaret cried out.
"No," Adrian said, stepping closer to her. "You were protecting the family business. You knew about the missing money, didn't you?"
Margaret’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
"You knew Caleb was stealing from the company," Adrian realized, the horrific puzzle pieces finally locking into place. "And you let Madison handle it because you were afraid of a public scandal. You traded Claire’s life for your precious reputation."
"Adrian, that isn't true!" Margaret panicked.
"Get out," Adrian repeated. "Before I ask Vance to handcuff you, too."
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Margaret looked around the room—at the cold, unyielding face of her eldest son, at the furious glare of Claire’s sister, and at the police officers collecting physical evidence from the hidden safe.
Realizing she had lost everything, Margaret pulled her mink wrap around her shoulders, held her head high in a pathetic attempt at dignity, and walked out of the dressing room without saying another word.
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