Chapter 9 - THE STORM BREAKS
It took three days for the machinery of justice to turn,
three days of living out of a suitcase in Eleanor's guest room.
During that time,
I did not look at my house,
even though it was only fifty feet away.
I did not want to see their cars,
their lights,
or their presence in my sanctuary.
But on Thursday morning,
the storm finally broke.
Two police cruisers and an unmarked detective's car pulled into my driveway,
their tires crunching loudly on the gravel.
Eleanor and I stood on her porch,
watching as Detective Miller,
a stern-faced woman with her badge pinned to her belt,
walked up my steps.
She didn't knock politely;
she pounded on the door with the authority of the state of New York.
"Police!"
she shouted.
"We have a warrant for the arrest of Matthew Adler!"
The door opened slowly,
and Jessica stood there,
her face pale and her eyes wide with sudden fear.
"What is this about?"
she demanded,
her voice shaking,
the arrogance gone.
"My husband didn't do anything!"
"Step aside,
ma'am,"
Detective Miller said,
pushing past her into the hallway.
"Matthew Adler,
you are under arrest for grand larceny,
forgery,
and identity theft."
I watched as they dragged Matthew out of the house in handcuffs,
his head bowed,
his shoulders shaking as he wept.
"Mom!"
he screamed,
seeing me standing on Eleanor's porch.
"Mom,
please!
Help me!
Don't let them do this!"
"I'm sorry,
Mom!
It was Jess,
she made me do it!"
Jessica ran out onto the lawn,
screaming at the officers,
trying to grab Matthew's arm.
"You can't do this!"
she shrieked,
her fingernails scratching at an officer's hand.
"This is our house!
You have no right!"
"Ma'am,
step back,
or you will be arrested for obstructing justice,"
the officer warned,
shoving her back.
But Jessica was out of control,
spitting and cursing,
until they forced her to the ground and slapped handcuffs on her wrists as well.
The neighborhood stood on their lawns,
watching in stunned silence as the two of them were loaded into the back of separate police cars.
Matthew was sobbing,
his face pressed against the glass,
looking at me with a pathetic plea for mercy.
I did not wave.
I did not cry.
I just stood there,
my hands folded in front of me,
watching the son I raised be carried away to pay for his sins.
When the police cars finally drove away,
their sirens echoing in the distance,
the street fell silent again.
May you like
But the air felt lighter,
as if a foul wind had finally passed through.
