Chapter 4 - The Legal Trap Springs
Back at the Sterling household, Ryan and Patricia were celebrating what they believed was a victory.
“She’s at some stupid shelter playing the victim,” Patricia scoffed, pouring herself a glass of Chardonnay in the very kitchen where the crime had taken place. “Give it a week, Ryan. Once she realizes she has no money, no support, and no way to fight us, she’ll come crawling back. And when she does, we’ll force her signature onto those deed transfer papers.”
Ryan paced the floor, staring at his phone. “I don't know, Mom. The social worker was entirely too cold today. And the police officer who escorted her to grab her clothes... he looked at me like he wanted to put cuffs on me right then and there.”
“Nonsense!” Patricia waved her hand dismissively. “You’re a respected businessman—well, you were, before your investments tanked—and I am on the board of the city hospital. Who are they going to believe? A broke orphan or us?”
Before Ryan could answer, the heavy front doorbell rang. It wasn't a polite knock; it was a loud, rhythmic pounding that rattled the doorframe.
Ryan frowned and walked to the front door, pulling it open.
Standing on the porch were two uniformed police officers and a sharp-eyed man in an expensive charcoal suit carrying a thick leather briefcase.
“Ryan Sterling?” the lead officer asked, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.
“Yes? What is this about?” Ryan demanded, trying to project an air of indignant authority.
The man in the suit stepped forward, pulling a stack of legal documents from his briefcase and thrusting them into Ryan’s chest. “My name is Arthur Pendelton. I represent Claire Sterling. You are hereby served with a temporary restraining order, a petition for emergency divorce on grounds of extreme physical abuse, and notice of impending criminal indictments.”
Ryan’s face drained of all color. The papers slipped from his hands, scattering across the porch. “What... what are you talking about? This is absurd! My wife had an accident!”
“An accident,” a cool, booming voice echoed from the driveway.
Detective Miller stepped out from behind the police cruisers, holding a ruggedized tablet. He tapped the screen, and the audio from the wall clock camera began to play aloud across the quiet suburban street:
“Maybe now she'll stop being selfish.”
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Patricia froze mid-sip inside the kitchen, the wineglass shattering as it slipped from her paralyzed fingers.
“Ryan Sterling,” Detective Miller said, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt, “you are under arrest for aggravated domestic assault, attempted murder of an unborn child, and willful endangerment. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
