Chapter 2 - SHADOWS AT THE DOOR
By noon, the house felt like a fortress under siege. Clara sat wrapped in a heavy blanket in the living room, clutching a mug of chamomile tea with trembling hands. Every time the wind rattled the windowpanes, her shoulders jerked in terror.
"He won't stop, Mommy," she whispered, her eyes wide and bloodshot. "You don't know what he's capable of. He has people everywhere. Lawyers, police officers, judges... his father bought half this city."
I sat beside her, gently taking her uninjured hand into mine. "Your father and I didn't buy this city, Clara. But we spent thirty years cleaning up the garbage inside it. Beckett Hale is just another corrupt boy who thinks his family name makes him bulletproof."
"He recorded me," Clara wept. "Months ago, when he started locking me in the pantry, I panicked and screamed. He filmed me crying, smashing plates in desperation. He told me if I ever left, he’d release those videos to the press and have me committed to a psychiatric facility."
My heart squeezed with rage, but my mind remained cold and analytical. "Let him release them. In the context of a systematic abuse trial, those videos don't prove you are insane; they prove you were a prisoner reacting to torture."
The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden. Clara gasped, dropping her tea.
"Stay here," I instructed calmly.
I walked to the front door, checking the live feed on my security panel. Standing on the porch was not Beckett, but a woman in a sharp navy power suit carrying a leather briefcase. Victoria Vance—no relation to the judge, but arguably the most ruthless defense attorney in the tri-state area. Beckett had brought out his heavy artillery early.
I opened the door, keeping the chain latch engaged. "Victoria."
"Evelyn," Victoria said, offering a tight, unsmiling nod. "I see you're still playing prosecutor long after turning in your badge. Can we step inside? It's freezing out here."
"You can state your business from the porch, Counselor."
Victoria sighed, opening her briefcase and pulling out a heavy legal packet. "Beckett wants to handle this discreetly. He cares for Clara, despite her current emotional instability. He is willing to offer a generous financial settlement and an uncontested, quiet divorce under one condition: Clara signs a non-disclosure agreement today and voluntarily admits herself to a private wellness retreat in Vermont for sixty days."
I let out a soft, dry laugh. "A wellness retreat? You mean an isolated private asylum where he controls her medical care and visitor list."
"It's a luxury rehabilitation center, Evelyn," Victoria corrected smoothly. "If you refuse, we file a counter-petition for emergency conservatorship at two o'clock. We have sworn affidavits from three psychiatrists stating Clara has been showing signs of severe paranoid schizophrenia."
"Affidavits from doctors funded by the Hale Foundation, no doubt," I replied, leaning against the doorframe. "Go ahead and file, Victoria. But before you do, check your email."
Victoria frowned, reaching into her coat for her phone. She tapped the screen, her brow furrowing as she opened a document I had instructed my former colleague Marcus to transmit five minutes prior.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice losing its polished composure.
"That," I said, "is a preliminary audit of Hale Enterprise Holdings' offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. It appears your client has been siphoning funds from his wife’s trust account into an shell company called Apex Limited to cover his massive illegal gambling debts in Macao."
Victoria's face drained of color. "This is unverified financial hearsay."
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"It's paper-trail arithmetic, Victoria. And you know I never miss a decimal point," I said coldly. "Tell Beckett that if he files for conservatorship, those documents go directly to the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Financial Crimes Division by 2:15 p.m. Have a safe drive back to the city."
I shut the door in her face. But as I turned back toward the hallway, I saw a shadow cross the kitchen window. Someone was in the backyard.
