Chapter 7 - The Dashcam Evidence
Kenneth jumped up from the booth and began shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Help! Someone call the police! This woman is dealing drugs!" he screamed.
The other customers in the coffee shop turned to stare at us in shock.
Kenneth looked at me with a pathetic, triumphant smirk, clearly acting on Bethany's orders to frame me.
He had expected me to panic, to grab the bag and run away like a guilty criminal.
Instead, I calmly reached into my pocket and pulled out my car keys.
I pointed my key fob toward the large glass window of the coffee shop, aimed directly at my car parked on the street.
I pressed a button on the fob, and my high-definition dashboard camera rotated to face the coffee shop window.
"Did you forget that I work in software security, Kenneth?" I asked quietly.
His confident smirk instantly vanished, replaced by absolute terror.
"My car has been recording a continuous live feed of this entire table since I parked," I informed him.
I grabbed my purse, carefully avoiding the bag of powder, and called Detective Vance directly.
Within three minutes, police cruisers surrounded the coffee shop with their sirens blaring.
Officers stormed inside, and Kenneth immediately threw his hands in the air, sobbing like a child.
I showed the detective the dashcam footage on my phone, clearly depicting Kenneth pulling the drugs from his own pocket.
They placed Kenneth in handcuffs and dragged him out of the coffee shop in front of a dozen witnesses.
Detective Vance looked at me and shook his head in disbelief.
"We have enough evidence to put your entire family away for a decade," the detective said.
He radioed his dispatch and ordered a full tactical unit to converge on my house.
We drove in a massive police convoy back to my quiet suburban neighborhood.
When we turned the corner onto my street, my heart stopped completely.
My house was completely barricaded from the inside.
Heavy wooden planks were nailed across all the windows, and the front door was blocked by a mountain of my expensive furniture.
Bethany was standing on the second-floor balcony, holding Madison by the arm.
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My father suddenly shattered the large living room window from the inside with a baseball bat.
He leaned out of the broken window, holding a red plastic gasoline canister in one hand and a flare in the other.
