Chapter 4 - The Airport Confrontation
On Thursday evening, the flight from Miami International Airport landed at Denver International Airport. Brent, Diane, and Karen walked out of the terminal, their designer luggage trailing behind them, their faces tense and pale. The tropical tans they had gotten in South Beach looked completely ridiculous against the gray, freezing mountain backdrop of Colorado.
Brent was typing furiously on his phone, trying to call the smart-home app, but his login details had been completely deleted from the server.
"We’ll go straight to the house, Brent," Diane hissed, clutching her leather handbag tight against her chest. "We’ll call the police from the driveway. There’s no way a judge will allow a wife to evict her husband without a formal separation agreement. We’ll force our way back into that mansion."
As they exited the baggage claim corridor, they didn't find their private car service waiting for them. Instead, they were met by a wall of local reporters, flashing cameras, and two uniformed Denver police officers standing beside Jennifer and Molly.
"Mr. Graves! Mr. Graves!" a reporter from a local news outlet shouted, shoving a microphone into his face. "Is it true that you locked your wife and three-day-old daughter out of her own home while you flew to Miami? How do you feel about your clothes being moved to a public storage unit?"
"Get those cameras out of my face!" Brent roared, his upper lip trembling with rage as he tried to push past the crowd.
"Mr. Brent Graves?" Officer Martinez stepped forward, blocking his path with a heavy, unyielding presence. He pulled a folded paper document from his inner pocket. "I am Officer Martinez with the Denver Police Department. I am serving you with a temporary emergency protection order filed on behalf of Tessa Vance and your minor child, Ivy Vance."
Brent staggered backward, his face turning an ugly shade of purple. "A protection order? For what?! I didn't touch her!"
"You intentionally locked a postpartum mother and a three-day-old infant out of a secure residential structure in a freezing downpour, creating an immediate physical hazard to a minor," the officer said, his voice carrying clearly through the crowded terminal. "You are ordered to stay five hundred feet away from Tessa Vance, her sister’s residence, and her place of business."
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Jennifer stepped forward, sliding a cold, silver key ring toward him. "And here are the keys to Storage Unit 412 in downtown Denver, Brent. Your golf clubs, your designer suits, and your mother’s holiday decorations are currently sitting next to a stack of old tires. You have twenty-four hours to vacate the state before the financial fraud warrants are officially processed."
Diane let out a loud, dramatic screech, collapsing onto her luxury suitcase as the cameras captured every single second of their public, utter humiliation.
