“Mom,” Derek said carefully, “did you take her bank card from her purse?”
A pause. Then fury. “It was in the kitchen drawer. If she didn’t want me using it, she shouldn’t have married into this family.”
Derek’s stomach twisted. “You broke in.”
“I have a key,” Marjorie said, triumphant. “I’m your mother.”
Derek looked at his spare key sitting on the table. Olivia had found it. Taken it back. She’d known exactly how this would unfold.
A knock hit the door—sharp and official.
Derek flinched and opened it, half-expecting Olivia, already armed with accusations.
Instead, a uniformed police officer stood beside the apartment manager, clipboard tucked under his arm.
“Derek Hale?” the officer asked.
“Yes—what’s going on?”
“I’m Officer Patel. We received a report from Olivia Hale regarding unauthorized entry and theft. She provided video and documentation. Are you aware of anyone entering the apartment today without her consent?”
Derek’s throat tightened. His eyes flicked to the evidence bag behind him.
“It was my mom,” he said quietly. “She… has a key.”
“Does your wife consent to her having that key?” Officer Patel asked.
Derek hesitated.
The manager cleared his throat. “Olivia also requested the locks be rekeyed. She’s already paid.”
The room seemed to narrow. Derek was used to chaos being loud—shouting matches, slammed doors. This was different. This was quiet, official, irreversible. Paperwork didn’t care how angry you were.
Marjorie’s voice crackled through the phone. “What’s happening? Derek, fix this!”
Derek looked down at the divorce petition again. Not a threat. Filed. Moving forward.
“We’ll need a statement,” Officer Patel said evenly. “And we may contact your mother.”
