“If you’re just tuning in, we’re at the home of Jacqueline Hanover, former Miss North Shore, and socialite. After the disturbing footage from last night where she was mauled by birds, we were sent information linking Jacqueline to the potential death of her late husband, Kenneth Hanover, along with colluding to steal and harbor the eggs of her daughter, Loren Carter. Criminal charges have yet to be filed, and we’re left wondering why. Are the elite so far above the law that they have different rules?”
The screen split, showing a news reporter back at the station. “It’s troubling, Samantha. We’ve reached out to the police, asking them why charges aren’t being filed. They have yet to comment on the case. We have someone who’d like to remain anonymous but says they have some information to share on the phone. Go ahead, caller. What do you have?”
“Am I on?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Go ahead, tell our viewers what you told us.”
“I’ve known Jacqueline for years, and I believe everything they say about her. She was awful to her daughter. It doesn’t surprise me she was doing something shady. In fact, there was once some money stolen from the club. She was in charge but blamed it on an employee who was fired. I don’t doubt it was her if what I’ve heard is true.”
“Why do you think there haven’t been any charges?” the reporter asked.
“The elite operate on a different level. It’s not right, but it’s how it is. Maybe now, with the press getting wind of this, they won’t be able to hide behind expensive lawyers.”
“Not that she could afford one,” one of the news reporters mumbled.
I smiled at the way the people were turning from my mother. She’d always been so immaculate, so untouchable, and now she would have to pay for all the sins she’d committed.
“Frank, we have movement coming up the road. It looks like a police cruiser.” The reporter and the cameraman took off, following the car as they pulled up to the door. The policemen looked over but didn’t tell the cameras to go away.
“It looks like they’re taking some action,” the reporter whispered. We all watched as they knocked, waiting for the door to open.
“Police, open up.”
It took a while, but eventually, Jacqueline Hanover answered the door. The woman who came into view was a sight to behold. Her hair was patchy, her skin marked with red spots haphazardly covered with bandages. “Yes?” she asked, holding her head high. I had to give it to my mother. She never stopped believing she was better than everyone.
“Jaqueline Hanover, you’re under arrest for accessory to murder of Kenneth Hannover, robbery of Loren Carter, forgery of documents, and fraud.”
The reporter turned back to the camera, a broad smile on her face. “Well, it looks like this North Shore socialite will finally be held accountable for her actions. Stay tuned for your local weather.”
The reporter had a huge smile that mirrored my own as we watched my mother be cuffed and placed in the back of the car. In some ways, it was satisfying to see her finally be held responsible for the atrocities she’d caused, but in another, it didn’t feel like it was enough.
But no matter what, Jacqueline Hanover was out of our lives and no longer a threat to me or my family. From this point forward, what happened to her was up to her and the courts.
And if we happened to have a judge in our pocket, so be it. Justice would be served.
Jacqueline Hanover was done.