“Laura, listen to me,” he stammered, backing up against the open trunk of his car. “The kid was confused. He hated that I was working late. He made things up in his head—”
“He didn’t make up the passport in your jacket pocket, Mark,” a booming voice resonated from the street.
Three marked sheriff’s cruisers pulled up to the curb, their sirens cut but their lights flashing aggressively against the front windows of our house. Detective Miller stepped out of the lead vehicle, an official federal asset warrant held firmly in his hand.
“Mark Rhodes, step away from the vehicle and place your hands on your head,” Miller ordered, his service weapon unholstered but held at his side. “We’ve already executed a raid on the property in upstate New York. Your mistress, Sarah, is currently in state custody for conspiracy to commit insurance fraud and corporate asset diversion.”
