Chapter 6 - The Airport Terminal Takedown
The rain was pouring in gray torrents over the runway at John Glenn International Airport in Columbus.
Inside the private charter terminal, Brenda Miller sat in a plush leather armchair near the window, wearing a oversized trench coat and dark sunglasses, nervously clutching a designer handbag filled with stacks of hundred-dollar bills she had managed to withdraw from local ATM machines before her accounts were frozen.
Duncan sat beside her, staring at his phone, frantically refreshing his offshore banking app, trying to confirm the transfer of the $180,000.
"Is the money in the account yet?!" Brenda hissed, kicking his shoe beneath the coffee table. "Duncan, answer me!"
"It says 'Pending Verification,' Mom!" Duncan whispered frantically, sweat dripping down his neck. "The bank in Cincinnati flagged the wire transfer because of the court injunction Evelyn filed yesterday!"
"That old bitch!" Brenda snarled, her claws digging into the leather armrest. "I should have burned that house down before I left!"
"You won't be burning anything, Brenda."
The voice came from behind them.
Brenda and Duncan spun around in their chairs.
Standing ten feet away was Special Agent Vance, flanked by four uniformed U.S. Marshals with their sidearms drawn and held low. Behind them stood Arthur Pendelton and myself, dressed in a sharp rain trench coat, holding my arms crossed.
Brenda’s sunglasses slipped off her nose, clicking against the glass tabletop.
"U.S. Marshals!" Agent Vance’s voice boomed through the quiet terminal lobby. "Brenda Miller, Duncan Miller, stay in your seats and put your hands where we can see them!"
Duncan immediately put his hands over his head, bursting into pathetic, blubbering tears. "Don't shoot! It was my mom! She made me do it! She forged the papers! I didn't know anything about the life insurance!"
"You spineless coward!" Brenda shrieked, lunging at her son and clawing at his face before two Marshals stepped in, grabbing her arms and forcing her down onto the carpeted floor.
"Brenda Miller," Agent Vance read the rights as the steel handcuffs snapped shut around her wrists, "you are under arrest for federal bank fraud, wire fraud, aggravated identity theft, and criminal conspiracy."
Brenda’s face was pressed against the carpet, her wig askew, her eyes fixed on me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You ruined my life, Evelyn!" Brenda spat, blood dripping from her lip where she had bitten her tongue. "That house was supposed to be mine! Hannah was nothing! A pathetic little schoolteacher who couldn't even keep her husband happy!"
I walked over, stopping right beside her head on the carpet. I knelt down, my face inches from hers.
"Hannah is a mother, Brenda," I whispered softly, so only she could hear. "She was strong enough to survive five years of your poisonous cruelty. And now, she is going to watch you spend the rest of your miserable life in a federal prison cell."
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As the Marshals dragged Brenda and Duncan out through the glass doors into the pouring rain, Sergeant Gregory Vance—Brenda’s brother—was pulled out of a police cruiser in handcuffs by State Troopers in the parking lot outside.
The entire rotten family tree had been chopped down in a single afternoon.
