Chapter 5 - The Glass House Shatters
Deputy Miller opened the front door before Claire could even touch the brass knocker.
Claire stumbled forward, her momentum carrying her right into the doorway, where she came face-to-face with Miller’s towering frame, his hand resting firmly on the grip of his Glock.
"Back up, ma’am," Miller said, his voice flat, professional, and uncompromising.
"Get out of my way!" Claire shrieked, her voice pitched near hysteria. Behind her, her husband, Greg, trotted up the steps, his face pale, frantically tugging at the collar of his designer polo shirt.
"Claire, wait—let’s talk to the lawyer first—" Greg pleaded, trying to grab her elbow.
Claire violently yanked her arm away. "Shut up, Greg! Shut up! Maya is inside stealing our family's future!"
She peered around Deputy Miller’s wide shoulder, her gaze locking directly onto me where I stood in the kitchen doorway, flanked by Evelyn Shaw and Patrolman Ellison.
"Maya!" Claire yelled, her voice trembling with venomous rage. "Dad is in a holding cell! Do you know what you did? They won't grant him bail! The magistrate said he’s a flight risk and a violent danger to the community because of your military status! His lawyer says he’s looking at five to ten years in state prison!"
"He assaulted an active-duty officer with a deadly weapon, Claire," I said, my voice cold and calm, cutting through her manic screaming like a combat knife through silk. "He fractured two of my ribs. The video recorded you telling him to break my fingers."
Claire’s eyes widened, a flash of pure panic darting across her features before she rapidly masked it with indignation.
"That was a figure of speech!" she screamed. "I was frustrated! You’ve always been Grandma’s favorite! You ran away to play sailor while I stayed here and dealt with Mom and Dad! I sacrificed my life for this family!"
"You didn't sacrifice anything, Claire," Evelyn Shaw’s voice rang out, crisp and devastating as she stepped into the entryway, holding the Cayman Islands wire transfer documents in her left hand. "You stole three hundred and forty thousand dollars in kickbacks from your father's fraudulent military contracts."
Greg Vance went dead white. He literally staggered back a step on the porch, his hand grasping the porch railing for support. "Where... where did you get that?"
"Grandma kept the Diebold safe full of your accounting records, Greg," I said quietly. "Every wire transfer from Harold’s shell company into C. Vance Enterprises. Every fake invoice for 'consulting services.' Every bribe Harold paid to bypass concrete core testing at the Norfolk dry docks."
Claire looked from the papers in Evelyn’s hand to the open Diebold vault door visible through the pantry behind us.
The color vanished from her skin, leaving her looking hollow, gaunt, and suddenly terrified.
"You had no right..." Claire whispered, her voice cracking. "That’s private family business. You can't use that."
"I don't have to use it, Claire," I replied, stepping forward until I was standing right behind Deputy Miller. "Patrolman Ellison didn't come here just because I'm an officer who got hurt. He came here because Shore Patrol called in the **Naval Criminal Investigative Service** two hours ago."
As if summoned by my words, the low, synchronized rumble of three black Chevrolet Suburbans echoed from the end of the gravel lane.
They moved up the driveway in tactical formation, their heavy tires grinding against the stones, tires throwing wet leaves into the air.
Greg looked over his shoulder. When he saw the federal plates and the four armed NCIS special agents stepping out in windbreakers bearing bold gold lettering, he let out a choked, terrified sob and dropped to his knees right on the wet porch steps, putting his hands behind his head.
"Greg!" Claire screamed, grabbing at his shoulders. "Greg, get up! Get up!"
"Claire," Greg wept, burying his face in his hands. "It’s over. The feds are here. It's over."
Special Agent Marcus Vance—no relation to Greg—strode up the wooden steps, flashed his gold credentials to Deputy Miller, and turned his steel-gray eyes onto Claire.
"Claire Vance? Gregory Vance?" Agent Vance asked.
Claire stood frozen, her mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.
"You are both under arrest pursuant to a federal warrant issued by the Eastern District of Virginia for procurement fraud, wire fraud, and conspiracy to defraud the United States Government," Agent Vance announced calmly, unclipping a pair of stainless steel handcuffs from his belt. "Turn around and place your hands behind your back."
Claire didn't scream this time.
She didn't fight.
As the steel ratchets clicked around her slender wrists, she looked past the agents, past her weeping husband, straight at Mom, who stood silently in the kitchen doorway holding Grandma’s old cast-iron skillet.
"Mom..." Claire whimpered, tears cutting black mascara tracks down her cheeks. "Mom, tell them. Tell them I'm your baby."
Lorraine Hart looked at her youngest daughter—the daughter she had spoiled, protected, and watched turn into an exact replica of Harold’s cruelty.
Mom didn't whisper.
May you like
"You told him to break her fingers, Claire," Mom said, her voice clear, resolute, and merciless. "You aren't my baby anymore. You're Harold’s accomplice."
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