Chapter 7 - THE FALL OF GERTRUDE
While Brandon’s spirit had broken in jail, his mother Gertrude remained convinced that her sharp tongue and arrogant posturing could somehow save her from justice.
Two weeks after her arrest, Gertrude’s bail was posted by a shady hard-money lender who held a secondary lien on her personal vehicle—a vehicle I had already filed a legal claim against as part of asset recovery.
I was sitting in Marcus Vance’s office reviewing our civil lawsuit when my phone rang. It was an unrecognized number.
I answered on speaker. "Charlotte Sterling."
"You wicked, cold-hearted little thief!" Gertrude’s shrill voice blasted through the speaker so loudly that Marcus looked up from his desk. "You think you’ve won?! You put my son in a cage! You ruined Hailey’s reputation! I am standing outside your office building right now, and I am not leaving until you drop these absurd charges!"
Marcus immediately tapped his computer screen, initiating a quiet call to the police department while signaling for me to keep her talking.
"Gertrude," I said calmly, keeping my voice steady. "You are violating a permanent protective order right now. If you stay on that street for another three minutes, you will be re-arrested."
"Let them try!" Gertrude spat, her voice echoing with delusional rage. "I have rights! I gave you my son! I lived in your house for a year, enduring your pathetic, working-class attitude! Everything in that house belonged to the Sterling family by right! You owe us millions for the emotional distress you’ve caused!"
"You didn't give me anything, Gertrude," I said. "You freeloaded off my salary, stole my identity, and psychologically abused my child. You are a criminal, and you're about to go back to prison."
"You think you’re so smart because you sit behind a desk and crunch numbers!" Gertrude screamed. "You’re nothing! You’re just a bitter, lonely woman who couldn't keep her husband happy! That’s why he went to Caroline! Caroline is a real woman—not a glorified accountant!"
Through Marcus’s glass office window, I looked down at the street below.
Standing on the sidewalk directly in front of the building main entrance was Gertrude. She was waving her hands wildly, screaming into her phone, completely oblivious to the marked police cruiser pulling up silently to the curb behind her.
Two officers stepped out of the vehicle.
"Gertrude," I said softly into the phone. "Look behind you."
On the street below, Gertrude spun around. Her jaw dropped as the officers approached her, holding handcuffs. She began screaming, flailing her arms, and shoving one of the officers as they moved to restrain her.
Within ten seconds, she was forced face-down against the hood of the police cruiser, her designer handbag falling into the gutter, her wrists cuffed tightly behind her back.
"Your three minutes are up," I said into the line, and ended the call.
Marcus hung up his phone and smiled. "That was a violation of a protective order, felony resisting arrest, and assault on a peace officer. Her bail is revoked permanently."
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I leaned back in my chair, watching the police cruiser drive away down the sunlit boulevard carrying Gertrude Sterling back to the place she belonged.
The storm had finally passed its peak. Now came the final, complete reconstruction of our lives.
