Chapter 2 - The Anatomy of a Setup
The flashing red and blue lights of the patrol cars painted our suburban street in erratic, strobing streaks of color. Neighbors began peering through their front blinds, drawn out by the sirens, but none dared step onto our driveway. Officer Miller—a veteran cop with tired eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor—stepped out of the shed and gently pushed me back.
“Sir, you need to stay right here. Let the paramedics work,” Miller instructed, his voice firm yet steady.
Inside the shed, the paramedics were already carefully lifting Maya onto a stretcher. Her face was ashen, her lips cracked and dry, and her eyes were squeezed shut against the sudden assault of the bright afternoon sun. As they wheeled her past me, she weakly reached out, her trembling fingers brushing against my palm.
“Caleb...” she whispered, a tear slipping down her dusty cheek. “The... the recorder.”
“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re safe now,” I choked out, squeezing her hand until they loaded her into the back of the ambulance.
I turned around, the grief in my chest instantly solidifying into pure, unadulterated fury.
My mother, Evelyn, was standing near the patio table, arms still crossed, though her smug expression had completely vanished. Detective Vance, a sharp-faced investigator who had just arrived in an unmarked unit, was standing before her, his notebook already open.
“Ma’am, are you Evelyn Vance?” Detective Vance asked, his voice sharp as a razor.
“I am,” Evelyn said, lifting her chin with a pathetic display of lingering arrogance. “And I demand to know why my son is letting these police officers harass me over a minor domestic squabble. That woman is mentally unstable. She tried to steal my late husband’s heirloom watch, and I locked her out to protect family property until my son got home.”
Detective Vance stared at her for a long, heavy moment. Then he snapped his notebook shut.
“A heirloom watch?” Vance repeated dryly. “Interesting defense, considering my crime scene tech just pulled a roll of duct tape, a stolen kitchen knife, and a voice recorder from right beside her purse in that shed. Last I checked, Grandma, people don't use duct tape and butcher knives to guard a Rolex.”
Evelyn’s breath hitched. “I... I put those in there earlier for gardening! To cut weed netting!”
“With a 10-inch kitchen carving knife and duct tape?” Vance stepped closer, his badge gleaming in the afternoon sun. “Mrs. Vance, you are being detained under suspicion of felony kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, and reckless endangerment of an unborn child. Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”
“Caleb!” Evelyn shrieked, panic finally piercing her icy exterior as the cold steel cuffs clicked around her wrists. “Tell them! Tell them I’m your mother! You can't let them do this to me!”
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I didn't move an inch. I didn't rush to her defense, and I didn't offer a single word of comfort. I simply looked at the woman who had birthed me, feeling only a profound, hollow numbness.
“You made your choice three days ago, Evelyn,” I said quietly, turning my back on her as the officers guided her toward the rear of the cruiser.
