Chapter 5 - The Desperate Counterattack
Wednesday afternoon arrived with a sudden, dark turn of events.
I was at my office reviewing the property deeds for the lake house when my cell phone rang. It was an unknown number, but I answered it, expecting a call from the real estate auditor.
Instead, a frantic, hysterical female voice came through the speaker.
"Claire! Help me! Please, you have to help me!"
It was Sarah, Eric's wife.
I frowned, keeping my voice neutral. "Sarah? What's going on?"
"Eric has lost his mind!" Sarah sobbed hysterically. "When he realized you weren't going to drop the legal charges, he went to the lake house! He's packing up all the high-end artwork, the furniture, and the electronics into a rental truck! He says he's going to sell everything on the black market and run to Mexico before the FBI gets involved!"
I stood up from my desk instantly. "What?!"
"I tried to stop him!" Sarah cried out. "I told him he was making things ten times worse! But he shoved me out of the house and locked the gates! Claire... he took my kids' passports! He's planning to abandon us here with all his debts!"
A cold anger flared in my chest. Eric wasn't just a thief; he was a coward who was willing to ruin his own wife and children to save his own skin.
"Where are you right now, Sarah?" I asked.
"I'm at a gas station near the lake house entrance," she wept. "Please, Claire... don't let him ruin our children's lives. If he flees the country, the bank will seize our house! We'll be on the street!"
"Stay where you are," I instructed her. "I'm calling Marcus and the sheriff's department right now. We're on our way."
Ten minutes later, two black SUVs from my corporate security detail, accompanied by Marcus Vance and two marked County Sheriff cruisers, were speeding down the highway toward Lakeview Estates, thirty miles outside the city.
Through the radio, Marcus coordinated with the local Sheriff.
"Since the lake house property was purchased using funds obtained through grand larceny and corporate forgery, and because a formal injunction was filed yesterday, Eric Bennett is currently committing active asset stripping and evasion of justice," Marcus explained to the Deputy Sheriff. "You have full legal authority to detain him at the gate."
"Copy that," the Deputy replied over the radio. "Units are approaching the perimeter now."
As our convoy pulled up to the grand wrought-iron gates of the lake house, we saw a massive yellow commercial moving truck parked in the driveway, its rear doors wide open.
Eric was violently throwing expensive oil paintings, designer leather couches, and crates of vintage wine into the back of the truck. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his eyes frantic and wild.
The police cruisers slammed their brakes, sirens blaring, red and blue lights flashing across the manicured lawns of the neighborhood.
"ERIC BENNETT!" the Deputy Sheriff yelled through a megaphone as officers stepped out with weapons drawn. "STEP AWAY FROM THE VEHICLE AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"
Eric froze. He looked at the police officers, then at my SUV as I stepped out beside Marcus.
A look of pure, psychotic rage crossed Eric’s face. He grabbed a heavy iron crowbar from the bed of the truck and brandished it wildly in the air.
"CLARA!" Eric screamed at the top of his lungs, pointing the crowbar at me. "YOU RUINED ME! YOU DESTROYED MY FAMILY! I TOOK WHAT WAS MINE! YOU OWED ME THAT MONEY!"
"Drop the weapon, Eric!" the Deputy ordered, stepping forward with his taser raised. "This is your final warning!"
"SHE THINK SHE'S BETTER THAN US JUST BECAUSE SHE HAS MONEY!" Eric shrieked, completely losing his mind. "SHE DISRESPECTED MY MOTHER! SHE DISRESPECTED MY KIDS! I SHOULD HAVE BURNED THAT DAMN HOTDOG IN HER SON'S FACE!"
The sheer absurdity and malice of his words echoed across the quiet lakefront neighborhood.
Before Eric could make a move toward anyone, the Deputy fired the taser.
Two metallic prongs struck Eric right in the chest. A high-voltage charge surged through his body, and Eric let out a strangled gasp before collapsing like a sack of bricks onto the concrete driveway, the iron crowbar clattering harmlessly away.
Officers rushed forward, pinning his arms behind his back and clicking heavy metal handcuffs around his wrists.
As they dragged a weeping, disheveled Eric toward the back of the police cruiser, Sarah arrived in her car, clutching her three crying children to her chest. She watched in horror as her husband was shoved into the back seat of the squad car.
I stepped up to the window of the police cruiser.
May you like
Eric looked up at me through the reinforced glass, his face smeared with dirt and tears, all his arrogance completely extinguished.
"It's over, Eric," I said quietly through the narrow gap in the window. "You'll have plenty of time to think about that hotdog in state prison."
