Chapter 7 - The Arrest
The federal marshals didn't have to search far to find them.
Without money or a place to stay, Daniel and Patricia were living out of a cheap motel near JFK airport, attempting to secure last-minute flight tickets out of the country using a wire transfer from one of Patricia’s hidden overseas accounts.
I chose to accompany Agent Ross to the motel alongside local law enforcement, staying inside the unmarked police vehicle across the street.
The rain was pouring heavily over the asphalt parking lot when four federal agents stepped up to the door of Room 114.
“Federal agents! Open the door!” Agent Ross shouted, knocking firmly.
Inside, I could hear frantic muffled voices and the sound of furniture dragging across the carpet.
The marshals didn't wait. They breached the door with a single heavy kick.
Through the rain-streaked window of my car, I watched the drama unfold. Within seconds, Daniel was brought out into the pouring rain in handcuffs, wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. He was weeping hysterically, his head hanging low as an officer guided him into the back of a police cruiser.
Moments later, Patricia was led out. Even in handcuffs, she fought every step of the way, screaming curses at the officers, her hair drenched, her clothes rumpled.
As the officers brought her near my parked vehicle, she caught sight of me sitting in the back seat through the tinted window.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide with a terrifying mix of hatred and desperate realization.
I rolled down the window just two inches, letting the cool rain-scented air fill the car.
“You ruined my son!” Patricia screamed over the sound of the rain. “You took everything from us!”
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“No, Patricia,” I said clearly, my voice carrying over the storm. “You tried to steal my life. I just took mine back.”
The officer pushed her into the transport van, closing the heavy steel doors with a resounding metallic slam that cut off her screams instantly.
