Chapter 6 - Sirens in Montecito
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The wail of police sirens pierced the sound of the rainstorm, growing louder as the cruisers sped up the long, winding driveway of the estate.
Martha crawled across the marble floor, her apron stained with tears and dirt, grabbing the hem of my pants. “Miss Blair, please, I beg of you! I made mistakes! I was terrified of the future! You had so much, you had everything in the world, and Phoebe deserved to have nice things too!”
I looked down at the woman who had pretended to be my family. “That is the language of thieves, Martha. You look at what belongs to someone else, you decide they have too much, and you justify your own greed by calling it justice.”
Two Santa Barbara deputies burst through the front doors, their radios crackling.
Phoebe screamed hysterically when they pulled Martha’s hands behind her back and clamped cold steel handcuffs onto her wrists. Martha shrieked louder, thrashing against the officers as they read her Miranda rights. The diamond bracelet was slipped into a plastic evidence bag. The trunks of stolen goods were documented and photographed.
As the deputies dragged her mother toward the police cruisers, Phoebe tried to run after them.
Arthur stepped into her path, a human wall of tailored wool and cold efficiency.
“My mother!” Phoebe wailed, turning to me with wild, feral eyes. “You can't let them take her!”
I walked slowly toward her. She instinctively shrank back. “You are trespassing, Phoebe.”
She blinked, the rain blowing through the open doors hitting her face. “What? This is my home!”
“No,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise of the storm. “It was my home. You just happened to be very comfortable stealing from it. You no longer work here. You no longer live here. Everything upstairs stays for the forensic accountants. You will leave this property with only the clothes currently on your back.”
For the first time since I had met her, the delicate, innocent facade melted away. Phoebe’s face twisted into an ugly, hateful snarl.
“Preston will destroy you for this,” she spat. “Julian will leave you. Carter and Jackson will hate you forever. You’ll be alone!”
I smiled, tilting my head. “It’s pathetic that you still think male attention equates to power.”
I nodded to the guards. They grabbed Phoebe by the arms and threw her out into the torrential rain, slamming the heavy oak doors shut on her screams.
May you like
Arthur approached me, carrying a silver tray with a single glass of neat bourbon. “A difficult morning, Miss Whitmore?”
I took a slow sip, letting the alcohol burn down my throat. I looked up at the portraits of my ancestors. “No, Arthur. The house rats are finally out. Now, we prepare for the wolves.”
