My Parents Skipped the Funeral of My Husband and Two Children for My Sister’s Birthday, but Six Months Later, One Headline Made Them Panic When They Discovered What I Had Done. / Chapter 37 / 121

Chapter 37 - The Arrest of Evelyn

The heavy oak doors splintered with a thunderous bang as the tactical ram breached the foyer.

"Federal agents! Search warrant! Hands where I can see them!" the lead marshal shouted, sweeping the marble-floored corridor with a weapon-mounted light.

The camera rounded the corner into the sunlit, two-story living room overlooking Central Park.

Evelyn was standing near a white marble kitchen island, dressed in a silk robe, holding a cup of espresso. Behind her, sitting on a velvet sofa surrounded by garment bags from Chanel and Cartier, were my parents—Robert and Eleanor Sterling.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Eleanor shrieked, jumping to her feet, clutching a strand of pearls around her neck. "Do you have any idea who my husband is? Get out of this apartment this instant or I will have the Police Commissioner remove your badges!"

"Eleanor Sterling, Robert Sterling, Evelyn Sterling," the marshal’s voice boomed over the body-cam microphone. "You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, conspiracy to commit kidnapping, accessory to treason, and financial terrorism."

Evelyn’s espresso cup slipped from her manicured fingers, hitting the floor and shattering into a hundred pieces, dark liquid splattering across her bare feet. "What? Kidnapping? Are you insane? This is about Claire, isn't it? She’s crazy! She’s mentally unstable, she’s been harassing us ever since her family died—"

"Her family didn't die, Ms. Sterling," the marshal interrupted coldly, stepping forward and grabbing Evelyn's arm, forcing it violently behind her back.

Click. The steel cuff snapped shut around her wrist.

"Ow! You're hurting me! Robert, do something!" Evelyn screamed, thrashing against the marshal’s grip.

My father stood frozen, his face draining of all color until he looked like a corpse. His mouth opened and closed like a fish suffocating on dry land. "Ethan... Ethan is dead. We saw the reports... Arthur Vance gave us the death certificates..."

"Arthur Vance is currently dead on Heron Island, Mr. Sterling," the marshal replied, while two other agents pinned Robert against the wall, wrenching his arms behind him. "And Ethan Vance is currently sitting in a federal safe house in Boston, drinking coffee with his wife and children."

Eleanor let out a high-pitched, guttural shriek—a sound of pure, unadulterated animal panic. She collapsed onto the velvet couch, her hands clutching her head. "No... no, no, no... that's impossible... Arthur promised... he promised they were gone..."

"Read them their rights," the team leader barked. "Bag every laptop, every phone, and seize the safe in the master suite. The bearer bonds are inside."

On the tablet screen, I watched as my sister was marched out of her gilded palace in handcuffs, sobbing hysterically, while the morning news crews—tipped off by Marcus’s media contacts—gathered like vultures in the lobby below.

The headline was already crawling across the bottom of national cable news: