Chapter 5 - The Warrant Catch Up
The hum of the espresso machine in my office breakroom felt miles away as I stared at the blinking cursor on my computer screen. Monday afternoon was supposed to be reserved for reviewing high-stakes commercial indemnification clauses, but my mind was entirely consumed by the wreckage of my familial relationships. Or rather, the glorious, burning demolition of them.
My phone, thankfully silenced and turned face-down, vibrated against the mahogany grain of my desk. Another blocked ID, another desperate attempt from a California area code to breach the impenetrable fortress I had just erected. I let it ring into voicemail, feeling a strange lightness in my chest. For thirty-four years, I had operated under the crushing weight of obligation. Every crisis of Sabine’s, every financial shortfall of my parents, every slight and casual dismissal had been absorbed by me because I believed love required self-erasure.
Now, standing on the other side of that psychological contract, the air tasted sweet.
A light tap on my doorframe broke my reverie. I looked up to see Chloe Vance—no relation to Marcus, despite the coincidence—standing nervously in the doorway. Chloe was our junior associate in corporate compliance, a brilliant first-year out of Northwestern who possessed a sharp intellect and a wardrobe entirely made of muted tones.
"Meredith? Do you have a minute?" she asked, clutching a stack of files to her chest.
"Always, Chloe. Come on in," I said, offering a welcoming gesture to the visitor chair opposite my desk. "What’s on your mind?"
Chloe stepped inside, closing the heavy oak door behind her with a soft click. She sat down, her expression a mix of hesitation and reluctant amusement. "Well, word travels fast through the firm's administrative grapevine. Especially when partner-level inquiries hit the front desk."
I arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Did someone in the firm receive another memo about my lake house squatters?"
"Better," Chloe said, a faint smirk breaking through her professional facade. "My uncle works in municipal records up in Milwaukee. He called me ten minutes ago asking if Kellan & Vance was taking on a high-profile criminal defense case for a local artist named Sabine Kellan."
My spine straightened instantly. "A criminal defense case? Did the state's attorney file charges?"
"They didn't just file charges, Meredith," Chloe said, leaning forward. "The Milwaukee County District Attorney picked up the file this morning based on the police report Deputy Miller filed and the sworn affidavits from the six people your sister scammed. They issued an active bench warrant for wire fraud and property theft. Bail is set at twenty-five grand."
A slow, profound sense of vindication washed over me. For years, Sabine had operated with absolute impunity, shielded by my parents' enabling excuses and my own exhaustion. She had believed the world was her personal playground, where consequences were merely suggestions meant for other people. Now, reality had finally caught up with her.
"Twenty-five thousand dollars," I murmured, tasting the numbers like fine wine. "And let me guess: my parents are completely tapped out because they spent their remaining liquid cash on first-class plane tickets to San Francisco, only to be abandoned by Nolan’s family at the airport."
Chloe’s eyes widened. "Wait, how did you know about Nolan's family ditching them?"
"Because my mother called me crying from a San Francisco hotel lobby an hour ago, begging for bailout money," I replied smoothly. "She told me Sabine was locked in a hotel bathroom refusing to come out because the Wisconsin police called her about the warrant."
Chloe burst into a short, genuine laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth immediately afterward as if remembering where she was. "Oh, my god. Meredith, that is Greek tragedy levels of poetic justice. What did you tell her?"
"I told her that according to her own favorite philosophy—*families help each other according to their abilities*—my ability was zero," I said, my voice steady and cold.
Chloe leaned back, staring at me with a newfound level of respect. "You handled a multi-generational cycle of toxic manipulation in a single sentence. I am officially in awe of you."
"Don't be in awe, Chloe. Just take notes," I joked lightly, though the underlying truth was heavier. "When you spend decades being the 'strong daughter,' people assume your strength is an infinite resource they can exploit without cost. It takes a monumental collapse for them to realize that when the foundation breaks, the building falls down on everyone."
Before Chloe could respond, my office phone rang. Not my mobile—my landline extension, which only routed through the firm’s internal switchboard. I frowned, picking up the receiver.
"Meredith Kellan," I said crisply.
"Meredith? Thank God you're there," a gruff, familiar voice sputtered through the speaker.
It wasn't my mother. It was my father, Peter.
His voice sounded small, cracked, and utterly defeated, stripped of the defensive apathy he usually hid behind while watching my mother dictate family dynamics.
"Dad," I said, my tone flat, dropping all warmth. "How did you get this extension?"
"I... I called the main firm line and begged the receptionist," Peter confessed, his breath hitching on the other end of the line. "Meredith, please. We're stranded at a diner outside San Francisco. Eleanor and Nolan took our rental car and drove back to the airport without us. Sabine is hysterical in the back booth, and the local police here in California just contacted us because Milwaukee extradited the warrant. They're going to arrest her, Meredith. They're going to put your sister in a holding cell."
I sat in silence for a long, deliberate moment, letting the weight of his panic settle into the copper wiring of the phone line.
"That's unfortunate, Dad," I replied, my voice calm, rhythmic, and utterly devoid of pity. "Sounds like a family emergency. Have you tried asking someone who cares?"
"Meredith—"
"Goodbye, Dad."
I slammed the receiver down onto the cradle, cutting off his frantic plea. I looked up to meet Chloe's wide, stunned gaze.
"That was my father," I said simply.
Chloe swallowed hard. "Are you going to be okay?"
May you like
"Chloe," I said, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the sprawling, brilliant expanse of Chicago, "I have never been better in my entire life."
***
