Chapter 15 - The Arrest
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The humiliation at Skylar's workplace was the final straw that broke Derek's fragile reality. Furious, broke, and desperate, he walked three blocks to a local bar and spent his last fifty dollars on cheap whiskey.
By three in the afternoon, the alcohol had convinced him that the restraining order was merely a piece of paper, a bluff that Skylar was using to scare him. In his drunken logic, if he could just get inside the apartment and talk to her, he could charm her into fixing everything, just like he always did.
He drove his car, slightly swerving, back to the Biscayne Bay apartment complex.
Derek bypassed the front desk by slipping through a side door in the parking garage when a resident exited. He rode the service elevator up to the seventh floor, his heart pounding with a mixture of alcohol-fueled courage and toxic rage.
He marched down the carpeted hallway and began pounding heavily on the door of Apartment 7B.
"Skylar! Open the door!" Derek yelled, rattling the doorknob. It was locked, and his key no longer worked—she had already changed the deadbolts. "I know you're in there! We need to talk!"
He kicked the bottom of the heavy oak door, causing a loud echoing thud down the corridor.
Inside the apartment, Skylar was sitting on her couch, reviewing paperwork with Cassandra via a Zoom call. At the sound of the pounding, she froze.
"Is that him?" Cassandra asked sharply through the laptop speakers.
"Yes," Skylar whispered, her heart hammering in her chest.
"Do not say a word to him. Call 911 right now. Tell them your husband is violating a domestic violence restraining order and attempting to break into your home."
Skylar picked up her phone with a trembling hand and dialed.
The police response was immediate. Because there was an active, high-priority protective order on file, two squad cars arrived at the complex within four minutes.
Derek was still aggressively kicking the door and shouting slurs when the elevator dinged open. Three uniformed officers rushed down the hallway, drawing their tasers.
"Derek Foster! Put your hands on the wall! Now!" an officer roared.
Derek spun around, stumbling drunkenly. "You can't arrest me! This is my house!"
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The officers didn't hesitate. They grabbed Derek, forced him against the wall, and clicked heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists. As they dragged him away, swearing and thrashing, Skylar watched quietly through the peephole of her secure, impenetrable fortress.
The arrest wasn't just the end of his harassment; it was a felony violation of a court order. Derek was going to jail.
