Chapter 8 - The Trap Springs
Jackson moved swiftly through the living room, heading directly toward the study where the safe was concealed behind a framed architectural blueprint.
He gripped a heavy crowbar he had retrieved from his trunk. “Bitch,” he muttered under his breath, his breath pluming in the cold draft. “You think you can destroy my life? I’ll burn this whole building down before you take a dime from me.”
He reached the safe, raised the crowbar, and drove it into the edge of the steel door.
The overhead lights flared to full brilliance with a sharp click.
Jackson whirled around, shielding his eyes from the blinding glare, the crowbar raised like a weapon.
Sitting calmly in an armchair by the fireplace was not a terrified, weeping woman. I sat in a tailored wool suit, sipping tea from a porcelain cup. Flanking me were two private security contractors, and behind them, stepping through the study doorway with service weapons drawn, were three uniformed St. Paul police officers.
“Drop the weapon, Jackson,” Sergeant Ramirez barked, stepping forward.
Jackson stared at me, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “Clara! What is this? This is my home too! We're married! I have a right to be here!”
“Your name was never on this deed,” I replied, setting the teacup on the saucer without a rattle. “You broke a court-mandated protection order. You committed aggravated burglary, armed with a deadly weapon, during a felony bail release.”
Jackson looked down at the crowbar in his hand, then at the officers advancing on him. “You set me up! You knew I would come here!”
“I didn't force you to break that window, Jackson,” I said, looking directly into his panic-stricken eyes. “I simply knew you were too arrogant to realize when you had already lost.”
He lunged forward in a blind, pathetic rage, swinging the crowbar toward me. Before he could take two steps, the lead security officer tackled him violently into the floorboards, pinning his arms while the police drove their knees into his spine.
The crowbar clattered harmlessly against the stone hearth.
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As they dragged him out through the snow-blown balcony, screaming curses and profanities into the freezing wind, I took another sip of my tea. This time, there would be no bail.
***
