Chapter 7 - The Arrest
At 4:45 PM, fifteen minutes before the federal courthouse closed for the weekend, three black SUVs pulled up to the curb outside the Whitaker home in Highland Park.
Ethan and I sat in a sleek black sedan parked half a block down the street, watching through the rain-streaked windshield.
The Highland Park house was a massive, white neo-colonial structure with manicured hedges and a grand circular driveway. It was the house I had been erased from, the house where my childhood photos had been taken down and replaced with portraits of Emily holding riding trophies.
Federal agents in dark blue jackets with yellow FBI letters across their backs walked up the wide stone steps.
Ethan looked at me softly. "You don't have to be here for this, Rebecca."
"Yes, I do," I said quietly. "I need to see the end of it."
The lead agent knocked firmly on the grand oak door. A moment later, Charles opened it. Even from fifty yards away, I could see the color drain from his face as he saw the badges held up in front of him.
He tried to slam the door, but two agents pushed it open, stepping inside.
For ten minutes, nothing happened. The neighborhood was quiet, save for the patter of rain on the roof of our car.
Then, the heavy front doors swung open again.
Charles came out first, his hands cuffed behind his back, flanked by two federal officers. He was wearing his suit jacket, but his tie was crooked, his head bowed low to avoid looking at the neighbors who were beginning to step out onto their porches.
Next came Lorraine. She was screaming, flailing her arms as a female agent guided her down the steps. Her perfect hair was wild, her cheeks stained with tears and mascara, her shouts echoing down the quiet suburban street.
"You can't do this! Do you know who we are? Call our lawyer!" she shrieked.
Finally, Emily emerged. She was sobbing uncontrollably, her head tucked into her chest, her wrist bound in steel cuffs as an officer guided her into the back seat of the second SUV.
As the agents loaded Charles into the lead vehicle, his eyes caught the black sedan parked down the street.
He stared through the rain, locking eyes with me through the tinted glass.
He knew I was sitting there. He knew I was watching.
I didn't smile. I didn't gloat. I simply met his gaze with absolute, unyielding calm.
Charles looked away first, bowing his head as the agent pushed him into the back seat and slammed the door shut.
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The three SUVs pulled away from the curb, their red and blue lights flashing silently against the wet pavement as they vanished down the avenue.
The house sat empty, its front door wide open, the rain blowing into the dark, silent foyer.
