Chapter 9 - The Frame Job
The blinding light from the police helicopter rotor wash kicked up a storm of dust and debris in the alleyway.
I stood paralyzed, my hands raised high above my head as a dozen heavily armed SWAT officers closed in on us.
James tried to step in front of me, shouting over the deafening noise that we were the victims.
An officer tackled him to the ground, pressing a knee aggressively into his gunshot wound.
James screamed in absolute agony as they brutally cuffed his hands behind his back.
I was forcefully shoved against the cold brick wall, my face scraping against the rough surface as cold steel clamped around my wrists.
The police dragged us into separate armored transport vehicles, ignoring my frantic pleas for medical attention for my husband.
I spent the next twelve hours locked in a freezing, windowless interrogation room at the federal precinct.
A stern FBI agent finally walked into the room, throwing a thick manila folder onto the metal table.
He told me that my mother-in-law's body had been found in the trunk of a burned-out car near the city limits.
He claimed they had anonymous tips, bank transfers, and forged medical documents proving James and I conspired to kill her.
The agent said they even found traces of pure shellfish extract in the trunk, linking the murder back to the restaurant incident.
Sarah had perfectly anticipated the explosion and used the chaos to finalize her ultimate frame job.
She had murdered her own mother to tie up loose ends and permanently destroy our lives.
I cried until my lungs burned, realizing that Sarah was a ghost who had legally died ten years ago.
There was no way to prove she existed, let alone that she was the criminal mastermind behind this entire nightmare.
I refused to sign the coerced confession, demanding my right to speak with a lawyer.
The agent smirked, telling me my court-appointed attorney was already waiting in the hallway.
The heavy metal door clicked open, and a tall woman in a sharp business suit stepped into the room.
The FBI agent immediately left us alone, locking the heavy deadbolt from the outside.
The lawyer sat down across from me and casually opened her expensive leather briefcase.
I stared at her face, feeling a surge of pure, unadulterated terror freeze the blood in my veins.
It was Sarah, dressed in a conservative suit, wearing thick glasses, and smiling like a predator playing with its food.
She leaned across the table and whispered that I was going to plead guilty to everything today.
She promised that if I took the fall, she would let James survive his prison sentence.
If I fought the charges, she guaranteed my husband would be stabbed to death in the infirmary before midnight.
She slid a confession paper and a black pen across the metal table.
May you like
I slowly picked up the pen, knowing I had absolutely no other choice but to sign my life away.
Suddenly, the fire alarm in the precinct building blared with a deafening, piercing screech.
