Chapter 2 - The Handcuffs Click
The taller of the two police officers, a veteran patrolman with a nameplate that read Sgt. Miller, stepped forward and unclipped a notepad from his belt. "Let's take this slow. Who wants to tell me exactly how this young lady's arm got broken?"
"I already told you!" Camille said, her voice rising an octave as she pointed a manicured finger at me. "She lost her temper over Dad's estate! She swung at me, and I grabbed her arm to restrain her! We fell, and it snapped! It was an accident!"
Sgt. Miller looked over at Dr. Thorne, who calmly shook his head. "I've treated hundreds of defensive and offensive injuries, Officer. Sydney’s radius was fractured by severe rotational torque applied while her arm was twisted behind her back. You don't get that injury from falling on a dining room rug."
I reached into my pocket with my good hand, pulling out my personal phone. I unlocked the screen and pressed play on the voice memo app I had secretly activated the moment I stepped into my mother's house that afternoon.
Camille’s own voice filled the hospital room, sharp and unmistakable: "You should have just signed the release, Sydney! I need that equity signed over before the auditors get inside the vaults, or I swear to God I'll break every finger on your hand!"
The recording captured the sickening pop of bone, followed by my own agonizing scream. Then, my mother’s voice chimed in: "Camille, stop! Just get the paper, we'll make her sign it with her left hand!"
Eleanor staggered backward against the hospital wall, her hands flying to her mouth in absolute terror.
"That's illegal surveillance!" Camille screamed, lunging toward my bed to grab the phone.
She didn't make it two feet. Sgt. Miller intercepted her with practiced ease, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around. The sound of steel handcuffs ratcheting tightly around Camille’s wrists was the most satisfying noise I had heard since my father passed away.
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"Camille Sterling, you are under arrest for felony domestic assault, witness intimidation, and attempted extortion," Sgt. Miller recited calmly as he read her Miranda rights.
As they dragged my protesting sister out of the room, her designer heels dragging across the linoleum, Harrison Grant stepped to my bedside and smiled slightly. "Your father always said you were the smart one, Sydney. Let's get you casted so we can freeze her bank accounts before morning."
