Chapter 2 - The Police and the Paperwork
Within twelve minutes, two patrol cars pulled into my parents’ brick driveway, their red and blue lights flashing against the pristine manicured hedges of the gated community.
My father was nearly hyperventilating with embarrassment. He stood near the front gate, frantically trying to talk to the senior officer, Deputy Vance—no relation to my Navy colleague—promising him that it was just a "little domestic disagreement over the barbecue."
Deputy Vance didn't buy a word of it. He took one look at my bruised cheek, the clear cut on the corner of my mouth, and the blood on my white linen collar, then looked at the four witnesses standing beside me.
“Ma’am,” Deputy Vance said, taking out his notepad as he stood near my rental SUV. “Do you wish to press charges?”
“Absolutley,” I replied without a second of hesitation.
“Lauren, don’t you dare!” my mother yelled from the front porch, her hands trembling as she held onto the railing. “If you do this, Vanessa will have a record! It will ruin Grant’s standing at the country club! Think about your nephew Connor!”
I turned to look at my mother. “Did you think about Maya and Lily when Vanessa called them charity leftovers? Did you think about them when she slapped their mother in front of their faces?”
Evelyn’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She had no defense, because in her mind, my daughters were never truly part of the Bennett bloodline. To my parents, Maya and Lily were just an inconvenient project I had taken on—a distraction from the grand legacy Grant was supposed to build with his corporate ventures.
While the deputy was taking Vanessa behind the patrol car to handcuff her for simple battery, Grant pulled me toward the side garden, away from the officers. His face was pale, his hands shaking as he adjusted his watch.
“Lauren, listen to me,” he pleaded, his voice dropping into a desperate whisper. “You have to drop this. You can’t let them book her.”
“Why not, Grant? She committed a crime,” I said, standing with my arms folded over my chest.
“Because...” He looked around frantically, ensuring the police officers were out of earshot. “Because we’re closing on the funding round for my company, Bennett Logistics, next week! The primary investor, Sterling Global, is performing a full background check on me and my immediate family! If my wife gets arrested for felony battery or even a misdemeanor assault charge, they’ll pull the three-million-dollar credit line!”
I looked at my brother, feeling a strange mixture of pity and utter disgust.
Even now, with his wife standing in handcuffs near a police cruiser and his children crying inside the house, Grant wasn’t worried about his family. He was worried about his money. He was worried about the illusion of success he had spent ten years building on my father’s dime.
“That sounds like a personal problem, Grant,” I said coldly.
“Lauren, please!” he begged, grabbing my upper arm. “I’m your brother!”
In a flash of instinct, my military hand-to-hand training took over. I twisted my wrist, caught his thumb, and applied just enough leverage to force him to drop his grip instantly, bending him at the waist with a sharp intake of breath.
“Don’t touch me,” I whispered into his ear. “And don't ever use the word 'brother' with me again. A brother doesn't let his wife insult his nieces. A brother doesn't stand by while his sister is struck.”
I released him, and he stumbled back, clutching his wrist and staring at me as if I were a stranger.
“You’ve changed,” he choked out.
“No,” I replied, stepping back toward Michael and my daughters. “I just stopped pretending that this family ever loved me.”
Deputy Vance walked over, holding his clipboard. “Ma’am, we’re taking Mrs. Bennett down to the station for booking. We’ve taken photos of your injuries. You’ll need to come down tomorrow morning to sign the formal affidavit.”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
As the police car backed down the driveway, its lights reflecting red against the stone walls of my parents’ house, my father walked over to me. His face was cold, hard, and devoid of any parental warmth.
“You’ve brought shame on this house, Lauren,” Dad said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Pack your things and get off my property. You and those girls are no longer welcome here.”
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Michael moved forward, but I placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. I looked at my father—the man who had ignored my naval commission ceremony, who had never once asked to see my medals, and who had spent fifty thousand dollars on Grant’s thirty-fifth birthday party while forgetting my adoption finalization anniversary.
“We were already leaving, Dad,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes. “And don't worry about us coming back. But before I go, you should check Grant’s corporate ledgers. Because if he’s managing your money the way he manages his family, you’re going to be broke before the summer is over.”
