Chapter 55 - The Line in the Granite
Four thousand miles away, the October chill in New Hampshire was cutting through the hemlocks like a straight razor.
Patrice sat on the tailgate of an unmarked state police cruiser, wrapped in a coarse wool blanket, a paper cup of lukewarm black coffee steaming between her uninjured hands. Her wrists were raw from the zip-ties, but her eyes were bright with pure, vindictive satisfaction.
Twenty feet away, Henderson was being pushed into the back of a transport van. The expensive tailored suit he had worn during Tori’s preliminary custody hearings was coated in road mud and pine needles. When he had tried to move Patrice from the secondary vehicle behind the abandoned gravel pit, Caleb had not hesitated. My timid, conflict-averse son had rammed his pickup truck straight into the driver's side door of Henderson’s sedan, pinning the lawyer against the steering wheel until the state troopers arrived.
"He's not going to talk, Caleb," Patrice said, watching my son stand by his dented bumper, his hands trembling as he stared at the flashing blue lights. "Men like Henderson protect their licenses until the indictment lands."
Caleb walked over, his face pale under the gray sky. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deepened by weeks of Tori’s manipulative screaming and the sickening realization of what he had allowed into his home.
"He doesn't need to talk," Caleb said quietly, his voice raspy from the cold. "Mom sent the copies of the wire transfers Henderson took from the Vance trust. She had them sent directly to the federal grand jury two hours ago."
Patrice let out a dry, barking laugh that turned into a cloud of white vapor. "Your mother spent forty years tracking down missing library books from high schoolers who thought they were clever. Julian Vance never stood a chance."
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Caleb looked down at his boots, the shame still visible in his stooped shoulders. "I almost let them destroy her, Patrice. When Tori told me Mom was selfish for flying to Europe... I almost believed her."
"Don't flatter yourself, Caleb," Patrice snapped gently, taking a sip of the bitter coffee. "Your mother didn't need your permission to live her life. But at least you finally showed up to the fight."
