Chapter 8 - The Price of Entitlement
Officer Vance—no relation to the attorney—walked over to my car as I killed the engine and stepped out into the cold night air.
“Ms. Prescott?” he asked, checking his notepad. “We caught three individuals attempting to force entry through your rear patio door. They’re claiming familial rights, but your security footage clearly shows an attempted break-in with a crowbar.”
I looked over toward the edge of the driveway.
Dad looked older than I had ever seen him, his shoulders hunched, his grey hair disheveled in the wind, standing in the glare of a police cruiser headlight. Ryan wouldn't even look in my direction, staring down at the asphalt in utter humiliation. Mallory was quietly weeping into her sleeve, muttering about how her children were going to see this on the local news.
“I want to press full charges,” I said clearly, my voice carrying across the quiet suburban street. “Breaking and entering, attempted property damage, and trespassing.”
Officer Vance nodded grimly. “Understood. We’ll transport them down to the precinct for booking.”
As they led my father toward the back of the cruiser, he managed to twist his head around, catching my eye through the flashing lights.
“Camille,” he called out, his voice cracking with desperate plea. “We’re family. You can’t do this to your own blood.”
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“Family doesn't steal from each other, Dad,” I said, my voice steady and cold as winter stone. “And family doesn't try to break into a home they didn't earn.”
I watched as the cruiser doors slammed shut one by one, sealing away the last remnants of the toxic illusion I had carried for forty years.
