Chelsea collapsed into her chair. Her face had lost all color.
“No,” she muttered. “No…”
“Paul is in protective custody now,” Spencer said. “He is going to testify. And with his testimony, plus the recordings we have of you, plus the bank statements, plus the testimonies of the previous families… Chelsea, you are going to spend the rest of your life in prison.”
“And Gerald Hayes,” I added. “He already sang, by the way. When we showed him all the evidence, he made a deal with the prosecution. He confessed everything in exchange for a reduced sentence. He gave us details of every case, every scam, every crime.”
Rob had his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.
“My God,” he whispered. “My God…”
Chelsea looked at me with pure hatred.
“You were always a damn meddler,” she spat.
“No,” I replied. “I am a mother protecting her family. And I am a former commander who knows how to recognize a criminal when I see one.”
I stood up. Counselor Rodriguez took some documents from his briefcase.
“The documents you signed at my house are completely void, by the way,” I said. “The coercion clause automatically invalidates them. My property is still mine. And Ethan is under my full legal custody now. Rob signed the papers yesterday.”
I looked at my son. He nodded, tears in his eyes.
“Chelsea Brooks,” Spencer said, standing up. “You are formally charged with fraud, extortion, attempted murder, kidnapping, and conspiracy to commit murder. Your house arrest is revoked. Officers, please.”
Two police officers who had been waiting nearby approached. Chelsea tried to resist as they put the handcuffs on her.
“Rob! Rob, help me!” she screamed. “Tell them this is a mistake!”
Rob looked at her. Tears rolled down his face, but when he spoke, his voice was firm.
“I can’t help you, Chelsea,” he said. “Because all of this is true. And I was too blind to see it.”
As they led her away, Chelsea screamed, cursed, threatened. But no one was listening to her anymore.
The other diners in the restaurant watched the scene with a mixture of shock and curiosity.
When the restaurant finally returned to relative silence, Rob looked at me.
“Why did you do it here?” he asked. “Why not just at the precinct?”
“Because you needed to see it, son,” I said. “You needed to see who she really was—with witnesses, with evidence, without a shadow of a doubt. You needed your last image of her not to be the crying victim who says you are cruel. You needed to see the real Chelsea—a cornered criminal who will finally pay for her crimes.”
