Chapter 18 - The Final Desperation
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Brooke was completely out of options. She couldn't go to her friend’s house because Vance’s men were waiting. She couldn't go to Mason because he had abandoned her. She couldn't go to the police because there was an active warrant for her arrest.
Driven by sheer, blind desperation, she made one final, catastrophic mistake.
At 6:00 PM, as the sun began to dip below the Texas horizon, the security cameras at the Frisco house pinged my phone.
I opened the live feed.
Brooke was standing on the front porch of the $640,000 property she had tried to steal. She wasn't just standing there; she was using a heavy landscaping rock to smash the glass pane of the front door.
“She’s breaking into the Frisco house,” I told Lorraine, standing up and grabbing my keys.
“Why?” Lorraine frowned. “The house is completely empty.”
“Because she’s a cornered animal trying to find a hole to hide in,” I said, walking toward the garage. “She thinks because the house is empty, Vance’s men won't look for her there. She’s trying to buy time.”
“I’m calling the police,” Lorraine stated, picking up the landline.
“Do it,” I agreed. “Tell them there is a break-in in progress at our property, and the suspect has an active felony warrant.”
I drove the forty minutes to Frisco in near silence, the adrenaline pulsing steadily through my veins. The game was finally ending.
When I pulled onto the quiet suburban street, the flashing red and blue lights of three Frisco police cruisers were already illuminating the twilight.
I parked my truck behind the cruisers and walked up the driveway.
The front door of the house was wide open, the glass shattered across the welcome mat. Two officers were walking out, flanking a woman in handcuffs.
It was Brooke.
She looked entirely unhinged. Her expensive coat was torn, her hair a wild, tangled mess, and her wrists were bound tightly in steel.
When she saw me standing in the driveway, her eyes widened in absolute, feral rage.
“You did this!” she screamed, thrashing against the officers' grip. “You ruined my life! You planned this from the start, you manipulative old bastard!”
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I stood perfectly still, my hands resting casually in my pockets.
“I didn't plan anything, Brooke,” I replied, my voice carrying clearly over the sound of the police radios. “I simply built a house. You were the one who decided to throw rocks at it.”
