Chapter 7 - The Downward Spiral
Forty-eight hours after his eviction from Edgewater, Derek sat in the cramped back room of a budget motel near Miami International Airport.
The room smelled of stale tobacco and cheap carpet cleaner. Outside, the low, roaring thunder of jet engines shook the thin windowpanes every three minutes.
Suzanne sat on the edge of the second double bed, surrounded by six cardboard boxes containing what little clothing they had been able to shove into plastic bags during their twenty-minute eviction window.
"We need to hire an attorney, Derek," Suzanne said, her voice hoarse, her eyes hollowed by lack of sleep. "If we hire an attorney, we can sue her for half the apartment's value. That’s marital property!"
"With what money, Suzanne?!" Derek snapped, slamming his laptop shut. "Do you have ten thousand dollars for a retainer? Because I don't! My checking balance is thirty-two dollars! My credit lines are frozen!"
"What about your sales commissions from last month?"
"Meridian Mutual withheld them pending the legal audit!" Derek shouted, pulling at his hair with both hands. "They claim my corporate reputation violation invalidated my performance incentive clause!"
A knock came at the motel room door.
Derek flinched, his head snapping toward the door. "Who is that? Did you order food?"
"No," Suzanne whispered, pulling her legs up onto the bed.
Derek walked cautiously to the door, looking through the tiny glass peephole.
Standing in the fluorescent-lit exterior corridor were two plainclothes detectives wearing light linen jackets, their gold Miami-Dade police badges pinned to their belts beside their holstered sidearms.
Derek’s breath caught in his lungs. His hands began to shake violently.
He opened the door two inches. "Yes?"
"Derek Mercer?" the lead detective asked, pulling a laminated identification card from his pocket. "Detective Alvarez, MDPD Special Victims Bureau."
"What... what is this regarding?"
"We have an active warrant for your arrest issued by the Eleventh Judicial Circuit Court," Detective Alvarez said calmly. "Charge: Aggravated Battery with a Deadly Weapon resulting in Great Bodily Harm under Florida Statute 784.045."
"A deadly weapon?!" Derek gasped, his face draining of all color. "It was coffee! It was a hot beverage!"
"Under state law, sir, throwing a boiling liquid intentionally at a victim's face causing second-degree burns meets the legal definition of an elevated battery charge," the detective replied, stepping forward and placing his palm flat against the door, pushing it wide open. "Turn around and place your hands behind your back."
Suzanne screamed from the bed, covering her face with her hands. "DEREK!"
"Wait! Please! There's been a mistake!" Derek pleaded as Detective Alvarez pulled his arms behind his spine, the cold steel of the handcuffs snapping tight around his wrists. "My wife... she’s doing this to get leverage in our divorce! Talk to her!"
"You have the right to remain silent," the second detective read flatly from a small card, steering Derek out into the humid corridor toward a non-marked police sedan parked in the lot below. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."
As Derek was lowered into the back seat of the police cruiser, his cheek pressed against the hard vinyl partition, he looked up at the cheap motel sign flickering against the night sky.
He thought of the marble island in Edgewater. He thought of the view of Biscayne Bay. He thought of the quiet, calm woman who used to sit at the dining table every morning, silently enduring his demands.
May you like
He had thought she was his property.
Now, he was sitting in the back of a police cruiser, stripped of his job, his home, his money, and his freedom—all because he had believed she would never have the courage to strike back.
