Part 2: The Red Light of Justice
The sound of the sirens grew louder, transitioning from a distant echo into a deafening roar that vibrated through the kitchen windows. Blue and red lights began to dance across the pristine white cabinets, piercing the darkness of the cul-de-sac.
Dominic’s pleased smile froze. He glanced toward the front window, his brow furrowing. "What the hell is that? Is there an accident down the street?"
"Probably the neighbors being dramatic again," Victoria scoffed, though she set her wineglass down with a slight tremble. "Arthur, go see what's happening."
Before Arthur could even push himself out of his recliner, the heavy oak front door was hit with a battering ram. The wood splintered with a sound like a gunshot.
"Police! Nobody move!"
Four armed officers in tactical vests flooded the kitchen, their weapons drawn and flashlights cutting through the dim lighting. Leading the entry was Detective Chloe Park, her badge catching the strobe of the police cruisers outside. Her eyes locked onto me, then dropped to the grease-stained floor and my blistered, trembling hand.
"Step away from her right now," Detective Park commanded, her voice dropping into a lethal, authoritative register as she pointed directly at Dominic.
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Dominic threw his hands up, his face instantly turning an ash-gray color. "Officer, wait! You don't understand! This is a domestic dispute—my wife had an accident with the stove. She’s clumsy, she burned herself, and she’s trying to make a scene—"
"Shut your mouth, Dominic," Detective Park interrupted. She didn't look at his frantic expression. Instead, she walked straight over to the kitchen island, reached underneath the marble lip, and retrieved the small, charging-port camera. The blue light was still blinking steadily. "We’ve been watching the live feed for the last four minutes. We saw the stove. We heard your mother tell her to learn her place. We heard it all."
