Chapter 7 - The Police Precinct
The fluorescent lights of the Atlanta Police Department’s 6th Precinct buzzed with an irritating, low-frequency hum.
My mother sat on a vinyl-covered chair in an interview room, a white paper medical gown draped over her shoulders. A female paramedic from Grady Memorial Hospital was gently cleaning three shallow lacerations along Evelyn’s right hairline and behind her earlobe, dabbing them with antiseptic swabs.
Every time the swab touched her skin, Evelyn winced, but she didn't cry. Not anymore.
Detective Raymond Miller, a veteran investigator with tired eyes and a heavy silver mustache, leaned against the laminate desk, flipping through the contents of the manila folder I had taken from Room 412.
Beside him, two junior officers were cataloging the items on the evidence table: my white wedding clutch, my phone with the high-resolution photo of Marcus and Vanessa, and the digital export of Claire Mercer's corporate audit files, which Claire had already emailed directly to the precinct’s secure server twenty minutes earlier.
"So," Detective Miller said, peering over his reading glasses at the notarized signature on the power-of-attorney form. "This notary stamp belongs to a Vanessa Lynn Briggs."
"Yes," I said, sitting beside my mother. "She was my wedding hairstylist. And Marcus Holloway’s legal co-conspirator."
The door to the interview room opened, and a sharp, well-dressed woman in a charcoal pantsuit walked in, carrying a leather briefcase.
"Detective Miller? I'm Assistant District Attorney Sarah Vance-Cruz from the Fulton County Special Prosecutions Unit." She flashed her gold credential badge. "No relation to the victims, but the Chief called me directly. The St. Clair Grand Hotel just sent over three hours of closed-circuit security footage from the third and fourth floors."
Miller raised an eyebrow. "What does it show?"
ADA Vance-Cruz opened her laptop on the desk, swiveling the screen toward us. "At 1:15 PM, suspect Vanessa Briggs enters the bridal suite carrying a professional styling kit. At 1:22 PM, according to the audio captured by the corridor security microphone outside the suite, Evelyn Vance repeatedly shouts 'Stop, you're hurting me, please stop.' The suspect continues for another four minutes before Nia Vance enters the room."
She tapped another key.
"At 1:40 PM, suspect Marcus Holloway enters the suite. The hallway cameras record him attempting to physically block the victims from exiting. Ten minutes later, suspect Greg Vance—excuse me, Gregory Vance-Kemp—is seen attempting to gain unauthorized access to the executive suite, followed by his deliberate vehicular pursuit through downtown Atlanta."
"Where is Greg now?" I asked.
"Downstairs in cell block four," Miller replied dryly. "He blew a .09 on the breathalyzer after he wrapped his Escalade around a light pole on Piedmont. When we searched the vehicle, we found a shredded copy of the original 2015 Vance & Mercer equity agreement in his glove box, along with twenty-five thousand dollars in cashier's checks drawn from Holloway Logistics' payroll account."
My mother let out a long, shuddering sigh. "Arthur's company... they really took it."
"They tried to, Mrs. Vance," ADA Vance-Cruz said gently, sitting across from her. "Under Georgia Code 16-5-102, causing intentional physical injury or mental anguish to a person over the age of sixty-five constitutes Exploitation and Intimidation of an Elder Person—a felony carrying up to twenty years in state prison. Combined with felony aggravated assault with a deadly weapon for the shears, Ms. Briggs is looking at mandatory prison time without parole eligibility for the first five years."
"And Marcus?" My voice was cold, razor-sharp. "What about Marcus?"
"Grand theft in excess of one million dollars, identity fraud, forgery in the first degree, and conspiracy to commit commercial fraud," the prosecutor said, her eyes flashing with professional steel. "Because he attempted to use an interstate corporate transfer to liquidate the land trust through a Delaware LLC, we’ve already notified the FBI’s financial crimes division. He isn't getting bail, Nia. Not this weekend."
At that moment, the door opened again. A uniform officer poked his head in.
"Detective? Marcus Holloway’s attorney is out in the lobby. He brought Marcus in to 'file a formal complaint of domestic assault and property destruction' against Nia Vance."
Detective Miller looked at the prosecutor. A slow, grim smile spread across the detective's weathered face.
"He actually walked into my precinct?" Miller asked.
"Brought his three-thousand-dollar defense attorney with him," the officer said. "Claims his bride had a violent psychotic episode, destroyed sixty thousand dollars worth of wedding arrangements, and assaulted his vendor with scissors."
ADA Vance-Cruz closed her laptop with a sharp snap.
"Detective," she said, smoothing the lapels of her suit. "Let's go welcome Mr. Holloway to the party."
I stood up. "I want to be there."
Detective Miller hesitated, looking at me. "Nia, standard procedure usually keeps the complaining witnesses separate—"
"I was supposed to marry him forty-five minutes ago," I said, my voice unwavering. "I took his ring off. I deserve to see him put the handcuffs on."
Miller exchanged a glance with the prosecutor, then nodded. "Stay behind the bulletproof glass in the observation room. Don't make a sound."
Five minutes later, I stood in the darkened observation booth overlooking the precinct’s central intake desk.
Marcus stood on the other side of the counter, still wearing his black tuxedo, though his bow tie was undone and his hair was disheveled. Standing beside him was a slick, silver-haired defense attorney clutching an expensive leather portfolio.
And sitting on a wooden bench nearby, crying hysterically into a paper towel, was Vanessa.
Her head was wrapped awkwardly in a silk scarf she had tied around her ruined hair, but the jagged, butchered clumps were still visible near her ears.
"My client is the victim here!" Marcus’s attorney was barking at the desk sergeant. "Nia Vance carried out a premeditated, unprovoked physical attack on Ms. Briggs, severed her hair with an eight-inch weapon, and fled the scene with confidential corporate files belonging to Holloway Logistics! We demand an immediate warrant for her arrest!"
Marcus leaned over the counter, his face red with righteous indignation. "She is mentally unstable, Sergeant! She has a history of erratic behavior! I tried to help her, I tried to give her and her mother a decent life, and this is how she repays me?! Where is she? I know the patrol officers brought her here!"
The heavy steel door from the squad room clicked open.
Detective Miller and ADA Vance-Cruz walked out, accompanied by four armed uniform officers.
Marcus’s face lit up with arrogant relief. "Miller, finally! Tell these men to process the warrant. We need Nia Vance in custody before she leaks proprietary business information to the press."
ADA Vance-Cruz walked straight up to Marcus, stopping six inches from his chest.
"Marcus Holloway?" she asked smoothly.
May you like
"Yes. And you are?"
"I'm Assistant District Attorney Sarah Vance-Cruz," she said, holding up a fresh sheaf of papers bearing the crimson seal of the Superior Court. "And I have a warrant for your arrest."
