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She should've known better when the day started with a series of misfortune, like waking up to a call from gran-gran telling her of a man who'd claimed he got the clearance to ransack their home. She instantly figured it was none other than Officer Murray, that skunk!

She'd sprung into action, calling their neighbors and the police department in Hartwood to go intervene and as if that wasn't enough headache, baby Sam decided to be mischievous enough to crawl around his room like a sugar high freak and ended up with a stray button down his throat.

She realized in time that he was choking. Suddenly he lay still on his belly and hissed a long scary breath that caught Jema's attention. She'd dropped the hamper full of clean clothes as she rushed to his aid. It was a terror-filled moment for Jema as she bumped the edge of her palms on his back repeatedly, crying for him to puck. It seemed fruitless.

When that action failed, she quickly switched to another method with her hands around his abdomen and his back to her, she squeezed 1, 2, 1, 2 like a defibrillator again and again until she heard his loud gasp of relief. She'd cried with him, hugging and kissing every part of him she could until the door to the nursery snapped open to reveal Madame Evana.

"Some people are here to see you," she'd announced and made a face when she saw tears in Jema's eyes. "Hurry up," and she left.

They were indeed uniformed men. Three of them for that matter and when they saw her climb down the stairs the easy look on their faces turned cold. "Mrs. Delray?" One of them asked.

"Yes? How May I help you?" She looked from each one of them to Madame who stood by the corner with her usual blank expression.

"I'm Detective Durov, with my colleagues from the city police department and you've been charged with the crime of involvement in money laundering and theft alongside other criminal charges."

"What?!" She couldn't believe her ears. "What's going on?"

"If you could come with us to the station we'd explain further."

Jema shifted on her feet. "I don't understand, what's going on?" Just as she'd thought, the day had spiraled into a much worse unbelievable situation.

"Your husband... late husband, Jacob Delray, as you know him to be, was involved with another suspect for laundering government funds during his time of assignment. We'd like to ask you some follow-up questions but only at the station. So we need your full cooperation ma'am,"

Her feet stuck to the floor unable to move even as their command flew over her head. A hand came to her back nudging her forward, they wouldn't even allow her to change into something proper. Reluctantly she followed but did not miss the triumphant smirk on the madame's lips when she walked past, her mind was clouded with a lot of questions to even dwell on her.

What had Jacob done to her?

Had he written her as an accomplice in one of his secret dealings? Probably why the police were onto her.
How did the police discover the money laundering? Were the nuns involved in her arrest?
Jema couldn't fathom.

She'd sat silently through the ride. Her mind was a foggy mess of thoughts and emotions she couldn't control. And in that moment she missed and craved the protection that only Theo could provide. If his formidable self was present at the scene then perhaps he'd have waned off their attempt at arresting her. Her fingers ran down her sides in search of her phone, maybe if she called him he'd come to rescue her but reality hit her. She'd left it back at the mansion, in the nursery while she was attending to the baby.

She locked eyes with one of them beside her and whispered. "I've done nothing wrong, I've honestly done nothing wrong."

If she'd thought Detective Durov was brutish in his approach then she hadn't met the other detective who sat before her in a dark room with only one source of light and a paneled window by her left. She knew from the setting these sorts of places were for serious criminal investigations and it only added to her anxiety.

The detective in a stylish leather jacket flapped a file on the desk before him as he adjusted on his chair. He wore a suspicious blank stare. "I'm Detective Henry Gars, and I have some questions for you ma'am," he flipped open the file without bothering to hear from Jema.

"Do you know what your husband was into before he died?"

Jema shook her head.

"I'd prefer a verbal response," he pointed at a CCTV camera on the wall, "that serves as evidence for whatever outcome this will bring, so speak up... ma'am,"

"No,"

"What of after his death?"

"Yes, after his death,"

"How did you find out?"

She raised her face to give him an unbelievable glare. "From his office, of course, I found the address to his office from his belongings in case you needed to know that too."

The detective wrote down in his book. "Great! So you're saying you had no idea of his dealings before his death and you just recently discovered it. Did you know of his money laundering case? That the FBI has been investigating for the past few months?"

Her silence told him she knew, she could see the way his eyes judged her as she struggled for words. Jema blinked rapidly to calm the sting at the back of her eyes. This wasn't time for weakness, she knew. There was only one way out of this mess, the truth.

"When I went back to bury my husband, I visited the monastery where his only relative was and that's when I was told about his true motives. I swear I'm still in shock, I can't quite believe that the man I knew so well was a stranger."

He pulled out several pictures from the brown envelope and pushed it towards Jema. "But you seem to know her too well," he said, nodding at the picture of Jema and a nun.

"Sister Mary-Anthony!" She gasped.

"That her name?"

"Yes, she's currently missing from the monastery and she's suspected to be involved with my late husband."

"So you don't know her as the infamous Spencer Anderson? A world-class thief."

"What? That's impossible, she's a nun at the monastery where my late husband often visited and she took off with the money he'd been keeping in her care."

Detective Gar hissed an ugly sound, slowly he planted his hands on the table and bent closer to Jema with a much ferocious look. "You seem to think you're very smart, huh? That you have everything planned out carefully, yeah? You're projecting, spinning the story to suit your narrative Mrs. Delray but lemme tell you some truth, we know it was you, we know you've been working hand in hand with Spencer Anderson. It was why you went back there over and over again. Did you kill your husband Jema?"

"What?! What are you talking about?!"

"When you found out about the divorce papers did you kill him to finally have access to the money he's been keeping away as life insurance? Is that why you kept contact with Spencer Anderson knowing she's his safe? We have evidence of your late husband's divorce papers with his lawyer and that of your shrink,"

"What are you saying?"

He huffed a breath, a chuckle rumbling down his throat. "If you could kill your child then what would stop you from doing the same to your husband," again he slapped another file at her. With trembling fingers, Jema turned them over to read through it with anticipatory eyes. The words were heavy, they were baring and gut-wrenching as the written truth tore through her innermost fear and made them public.

She couldn't help it any longer, the hot tears that followed. "I'm sorry," she cried, panting as the pain intensified. "I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean to."

The detective sat stunned at how easily that one piece of evidence tore through her facade. "So are you admitting to killing your husband for the sake of money? And for conniving with Spencer Anderson to do so?"

She lifted her tearful eyes and glared maliciously at him. "I didn't kill Jacob!" She snapped. "I have no motive to kill my husband and I barely know about the money. I'm being honest with you. I met Officer Murray at the USSS headquarters where he told me all about my husband and how he lived a double life after I went to see Sister Mary-Anthony or whatever she goes by at the monastery. That's the picture of us you have here, she only helped me with some of Jacob's belongings which gave me a lead to my next destination. I wanted to find the killers of my husband, I wanted to do the work that you guys had so neglected and now you sit here accusing me of laundering money and killing my husband!!"

"There's countless evidence_"

"—damn your stupid evidence detective!! Where were you guys when he was struggling with his killers? Where was your dedication to finding his killers when his body was found in the river? Where?... Where were you all when I searched the city and towns for the people that were in any way involved with Jacob's death?!! Don't freakin tell me that you have some cooked-up evidence to finally put me behind bars and get your hands on the damn money!"

"Is that what this is about then?... the money? Is that why you're so fixated on derailing from the facts? Mrs. Delray, it's obvious we can't ascertain whether you're being truthful or not because we're not sure which one of your personalities is at play now."

"Goodness! What is wrong with you people? Have you all suddenly developed some brain damage? What in the name of heaven are you talking about?"

"Your report, from your therapist back in Hartwood. Says you suffer from dissociative identity disorder due to the ugly things you've experienced in your past. Now do you deny what you told her about your baby?"

"Oh my God!" Jema cried, her palms clasped against her head.

"Your grandparents had more to say about you as well. They think you could be dangerous to yourself and the people around you, so I'm asking you again Mrs. Delray, did you kill your husband for money like the way you purposely terminated your pregnancy?"

After a minute of waiting for a response from her, Detective Gar knew it was fruitless to push her further. She'd zoned out, more like in a trance so he stood, cleared the table, and headed out of the room.

He was exhausted from the pressure he'd been ordered to put on her.

"Just evidence of her admitting to the crimes is enough," they'd told him, so when he stepped into his spacious office and found the woman relaxing on the couch by the window, his shoulders sagged in dissatisfaction.

"So?" She sat up and peered at him hopefully. Her blond almost white hair glistened underneath the sun as he watched the smile-induced wrinkles spread across her face.

"She wouldn't admit to anything, except being emotionally unstable after her husband's passing and for killing her baby."

"Did she say that with her mouth?"

"Well, no. She cried whenever the topic was raised so I figured,"

"Puta!! That is not enough Gar, I need concrete evidence to put her behind bars. I don't want her out of jail in no time. You and I know personality disorders aren't a strong basis for jail time, huh? We need more! We need murder, theft, terrorism accusations, and much more! What am I gonna do with her mood swings?"

"You could... send her to an asylum. I know of one that lets you call the shots and she can never leave except you give your approval."

"Bingo!"