A thunderous pounding jolted me from sleep, my heart leaping into my throat. Raised voices echoed from downstairs, urgent and angry. What the—?

I shot upright, fumbling in the darkness. My fingers found the lamp switch on the nightstand as adrenaline flooded my system. Something was very wrong.

"You can't just barge in here!" Dad's voice, tight with barely contained fury.

I stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over a stack of mystery novels by my desk. The floorboards creaked under my bare feet as I sped towards my bedroom door.

"We have a warrant for your arrest, Mr. Finch." An unfamiliar voice, cold and official.

My hand froze on the doorknob. Warrant? My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. This had to be some kind of mistake.

I wrenched the door open and plunged into the hallway. The stairs loomed before me, a descent into chaos. With each step, dread coiled tighter in my stomach.

"This is ridiculous," Mom's voice drifted up, trembling with anger or fear—I couldn't tell which.

I gripped the banister, my palms slick with sweat. The living room came into view, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Our normally tidy space was in disarray—the coffee table shoved aside, papers scattered across the floor. The tension in the air was so thick I could almost taste it.

"Arlo," Mom's eyes found mine, wide with panic. "Go back to your room, honey."

But I couldn't move. I stood frozen on the bottom step, trying to process the surreal scene before me. This can't be happening, I thought. Not to us. Not to Dad.

I recognized Officer Jenkins from his school visits. He stood in the center of our living room, his weathered face impassive as he addressed my father. "James Finch, I'm placing you under arrest on charges of fraud and embezzlement" he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Dad, always the picture of calm and dignity, looked pale and shaken. Yet, he straightened his shoulders and met Officer Jenkins' gaze steadily.

"I haven’t committed any crimes, but I understand you are just doing your job Officer Jenkins," Dad replied, his voice strong. "May I have a moment with my family?"

Jenkins gave a curt nod. "One minute, Mr. Finch."

My mind reeled. This couldn't be happening. Not to Dad—the most honest, upstanding person I knew. The man who taught me about integrity and justice through countless discussions over dog-eared mystery novels. Embezzlement? Fraud? It made no sense.

"Dad?" I croaked, finally finding my voice. "What's going on?"

He turned to me, his warm blue eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resolve. "Arlo, son, I need you to be strong now. Remember what we've always talked about—the truth will come out in the end."

I wanted to argue, to demand answers, but the words stuck in my throat as Officer Jenkins stepped forward, handcuffs glinting in the dim light.

"Time's up, Mr. Finch," Jenkins said, his tone professional but not unkind.

As the cold metal clasped around Dad's wrists, I felt like I was watching a scene from one of my novels—except this was horrifyingly real. My stomach churned, and I blinked hard, hoping to wake up from this nightmare.

"This is a mistake," I blurted out, my voice cracking. "My dad wouldn't—he's not—"

Dad caught my eye, his expression softening. "It's alright, Arlo. We'll sort this out. Take care of your mother for me."

As Officer Jenkins led him towards the door, I stood rooted to the spot, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. How could this be happening to the man who'd always been my moral compass?

I snapped out of my daze and rushed after them, my heart pounding. "Officer Jenkins, wait!" I called out, my voice echoing in the crisp early morning air. "You can't just take him without explaining why. What are the charges?"

Jenkins turned; his weathered face impassive in the glow of the streetlights. "I'm sorry, son, but I can't disclose any details at this time. It's an ongoing investigation."

I felt a surge of frustration, my fists clenching at my sides. "But that's not fair! Don't we have a right to know?"

"Arlo," my dad said softly, "it's okay. Let the process work."

Jenkins cleared his throat. "Your father's right. Everything will be handled according to proper procedures."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Procedures? This is my dad we're talking about! He's not some—"

"I understand this is difficult," Jenkins cut in, his gravelly voice firm. "But I have a job to do. Any information will have to come through official channels."

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As they loaded Dad into the patrol car, I stood there, helpless and angry. The slam of the car door felt like a punch to the gut.

Dawn broke over Havenwood, painting the sky in surreal shades of pink and gold. I went inside and ate breakfast without tasting it. I wandered the familiar streets towards school, feeling like a ghost in my own town. The events of the night replayed in my mind, a broken record I couldn't shut off.

People were already out and about, their whispers following me like a shadow. I caught fragments of conversations, my dad's name on everyone's lips. It was as if the whole world had tilted on its axis, and I was the only one struggling to keep my balance.

As I trudged down Main Street, snippets of hushed conversations reached my ears.

"Did you hear about James Finch?" Mrs. Lawson, the town gossip, stage-whispered to her friend. "Arrested this morning!"

"No!" her companion gasped. "What for?"

"Embezzlement, they say. Fraud too. Always thought he was too good to be true."

My stomach twisted. I wanted to shout at them, tell them they were wrong, but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I quickened my pace, keeping my head down.

At school, the whispers only grew louder. Eyes followed me down the hallway, conversations stopping abruptly as I passed. I felt like an exhibit in a zoo, on display for everyone to gawk at. By lunchtime, the weight of it all threatened to crush me. I sat alone in the cafeteria, the din of voices washing over me like static. The smell of mystery meat and overcooked vegetables turned my stomach.

"Hey, isn't that Finch's kid?" someone nearby asked.

"Yeah, poor guy. His dad's probably going to prison."

I stabbed at my mashed potatoes, trying to block out the noise. My mind raced, replaying the morning's events, searching for some detail I might have missed. There had to be an explanation, something that would make sense of all this.

The clatter of trays and laughter felt oddly muffled, like I was underwater. I glanced up, catching a group of students quickly averting their eyes. My chest tightened.

"This isn't happening," I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair. "Dad wouldn't... he couldn't have..."

But doubt crept in, unwelcome and persistent. What if there was something I didn't know? What if—

I shook my head, banishing the thought. No. I knew my father. Whatever was going on, there had to be a mistake. I just needed to figure out how to prove it.

As I sat there, surrounded by the chaos of the lunchroom yet utterly alone, I made a silent vow. I would get to the bottom of this, no matter what it took. Because that's what Dad would do for me.

A flash of fiery red hair caught my eye, drawing me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see a girl striding purposefully toward my table, her leaf-green eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made me want to shrink into my chair. I recognized her vaguely – Elsie Harper, I think – but we'd never spoken before.

She plunked her tray down across from me without ceremony. "So, Arlo Finch, how are we going to prove your dad's innocent?"

I blinked, caught off guard by her directness. "Uh, what?"

"Your dad. The arrest. The ridiculous embezzlement charges," she said, waving her hand impatiently. "We both know it's a load of crap, so what's the plan?"

I stared at her, trying to process this unexpected development. Her freckled face was set in a determined expression, and there was a glint in her eye that was equal parts intriguing and unsettling.

"Look," I started, choosing my words carefully, "I appreciate the... thought, I guess. But I don't even know you, and this isn't really anyone else's business."

Elsie leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Maybe not, but I've got a nose for injustice, Finch. And this whole thing stinks worse than today's cafeteria special." She wrinkled her nose for emphasis.

Despite myself, I felt a small smile tug at my lips. "You're not wrong about the food," I admitted.

She grinned, a quick flash of teeth. "See? We're on the same page already. Now, about your dad—"

"Elsie," I interrupted, my brief moment of amusement fading. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I can handle this on my own."

She raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly around the empty table. "Yeah, I can see that's working out great for you so far."

I felt a flicker of annoyance. "You don't know anything about me or my family."

"I know enough to see when someone needs help, even if they're too stubborn to admit it," she shot back, undeterred.

I stared at Elsie, my mind racing. Part of me wanted to dismiss her offer outright. This was my burden to bear, my family's problem to solve. And yet... there was something about her fierce determination that gave me pause.

"Why do you even care?" I asked, my voice low. "You don't know me. You don't know my dad."

Elsie leaned forward, her freckles standing out against her flushed cheeks. "Look, we both know your dad didn't embezzle that money. The question is, who did? And why frame him for it?"

"How do you know he didn't do it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She rolled her eyes. "Please. James Finch is the most honest man in this corrupt little town. Someone's trying to take him down, and I want to help you figure out who."

Elsie's green gaze met mine, unflinching. "Because it's the right thing to do. And because I've seen what happens when good people stay silent in this town."

"I appreciate the offer, Elsie, but..." I trailed off, my eyes darting around the cafeteria. "This isn't some mystery novel. There could be real consequences if we start poking around."

Elsie leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "And there are real consequences if we don't. Your dad's facing jail time, Arlo. Are you really going to sit back and let that happen?"

I ran a hand through my hair, conflicted. "Of course not, but what can we possibly do? We're just high school students."

"We're smart, determined, and we know this town," Elsie countered, her green eyes blazing. "Plus, no one pays attention to kids our age. We can go places, ask questions that adults can't."

I leaned back, studying her. The cafeteria bustled around us, but it felt like we were in our own bubble. "And what makes you think you can help?"

She grinned, a hint of mischief in her expression. "Let's just say I've got a talent for digging up secrets. Plus, two heads are better than one, right?"

"I don't know, Elsie," I said, my resolve wavering. "It's dangerous."

She fixed me with a penetrating stare. "More dangerous than letting an innocent man go to prison? More dangerous than letting the real criminals walk free?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "You're pretty persistent, aren't you?"

"That’s what they say," Elsie replied, her freckled nose crinkling with amusement.

I took a deep breath, weighing my options. The logical part of my brain screamed caution, but something else – maybe hope, maybe desperation – pushed me forward.

"Alright," I said finally, straightening up. "I'm in. But we do this carefully, understand? No wild accusations or stunts."

Elsie's face lit up, and she extended her hand across the table. "Deal. Now, partner, let's get to work on clearing your dad's name."

As I shook her hand, I felt a shift inside me. No longer was I just a bystander in this drama. With Elsie by my side, I was taking my first step towards uncovering the truth – whatever it might be.