Justice of the Supreme War God

Chapter 38: Willingly Part 1

Diana's first question was not directed at the officers.

"Where did you get this information?"

Catherine had the expression she wore when she was about to perform ignorance — a slight adjustment of the eyebrows, a fractional shift in posture, the unconscious body language of someone positioning themselves for a version of the truth that required maintenance.

"I keep tabs on what happens in your household," Catherine said. "I'm your mother. Someone has to."

"Where did you get this information," Diana repeated, and the repetition was identical to the first delivery — same temperature, same precision, same complete absence of the softening that would have indicated she was willing to accept a different answer.

Catherine's eyes moved.

It was brief — a fractional, involuntary shift toward the door and back, the automatic glance of a person whose mind has gone to a name they were specifically told not to mention.

Diana filed it.

"And I'd like whoever gave it to you," Diana continued, "to know that the next time they want to insert themselves into my household affairs, they should have the integrity to do it under their own name."

Catherine straightened. "I don't know what you're —"

"Liam," Diana said.

The name landed in the kitchen with the flat, conclusive quality of someone identifying a card that has been face-down on the table.

Catherine said nothing, which was confirmation of a sufficient quality.

Diana looked at the ceiling briefly, with the expression of a woman adding this data point to a larger calculation she had been running for several days, and then returned her attention to the room.

The two officers had been conducting the professional, patient wait of people who had been trained to let domestic exchanges resolve themselves before they intervened, and the taller one — the one with the notepad — made the small forward shift of someone deciding the exchange had reached its natural pause.

"Ma'am," he said, addressing Catherine with the careful neutrality of someone managing multiple competing authorities in a small space. Then he turned to Marcus. "Sir. I need you to understand that you're under arrest on suspicion of felony theft. Wire fraud, specifically — unauthorized transfer of funds from the Morrison Accounting Group operating account." He kept his voice even and procedural. "We'll need you to come with us."

Marcus looked at him.

"What evidence supports the arrest?" he asked.

The officer's professional composure absorbed this without visible disruption. "Sir, we have documentation of two unauthorized wire transfers totaling two hundred and thirty thousand dollars, both bearing your name as the recipient authorization —"

"A name on a transaction record is not evidence of commission," Marcus said. His voice was entirely conversational — not combative, not defensive, the measured tone of a man having a discussion about facts. "It's a data point. A data point that could indicate commission, or could indicate that the name was placed there by whoever actually initiated the transfer." He looked at the officer directly. "Do you have the originating IP address for the transactions?"

The officer hesitated. "That information would be part of the —"

"Do you have it with you right now?"

A pause. "No, sir."

"Do you have a warrant?"

Another pause. Slightly longer.

"We have a complaint," the officer said, with the careful precision of someone choosing the accurate word, "from a family member with documented financial standing, and transaction records that —"

"A complaint and transaction records with my name on them," Marcus said. "No warrant. No IP trace. No verified evidence of commission." He clasped his hands in front of him with the composed, unhurried manner of a man who has had significantly more serious legal conversations in significantly higher-stakes environments. "Under those conditions, what you have is suspicion. And suspicion, without substantiating evidence sufficient for probable cause, doesn't legally support an arrest." He tilted his head slightly. "You know this."

The kitchen was very quiet.