Chapter 7 - The Video Evidence
The monitor screen flickered to life.
The unedited data streams began to whirl across the display, and with every frame, the horror of what his children had endured became undeniable.
There was Valerie, standing on the absolute tips of her bare toes, struggling to lift a heavy, gallon-sized formula container on the high kitchen counter.
She was seven years old, her muscles straining as she tried to mix a bottle for her crying brother.
There was Valerie, carrying Mateo up the steep carpeted stairs, her small knees buckling under the weight of the fifteen-pound infant.
The camera timestamp read: 03:14 AM.
Where was Claire?
The next clip showed the master bedroom door closed and locked from the inside, while Valerie sat on the hallway floor outside, rocking Mateo in the dark, trying to quiet him so Claire wouldn't be disturbed.
Another clip from two weeks ago showed Claire entering the foyer.
She was wearing a designer trench coat, holding a shopping bag from an expensive boutique.
Valerie ran up to her, holding Mateo, her little face clearly distressed.
Claire didn't even look at the baby.
She didn't offer a hug.
Instead, she roughly grabbed Valerie’s arm—the exact location of the deep purple bruise—and shoved her back toward the kitchen, pointing angrily at the floor.
She issued a sharp, cold command, her lips curling in contempt, before walking into her bedroom and slamming the door.
In one of the most heartbreaking clips, Valerie was dragging a heavy bucket of water across the tile.
Suddenly, her lower back suffered a violent muscle spasm.
Her entire frame folded in half, and she collapsed onto her knees, gasping for air.
The heavy bucket tipped over, spilling dirty water across her legs.
Yet, even in obvious, agonizing pain, the little girl didn't scream.
She didn't cry out for help.
She immediately sat up, pulled Mateo into her lap to protect him from the wet floor, and began to wipe the water with her bare hands, her face contorted in silent agony.
Alex hit the stop button on the console.
His chest was heaving, his breathing shallow.
He had seen enough.
He had more than enough data to dismantle Claire's life piece by piece.
He copied the video files to an encrypted external drive, placed the black leather journal and the forged mortgage documents inside a heavy tactical brief, and locked it.
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"The perimeter is secure, Rex," Alex said, his voice dropping into a register that was dead and cold.
"Now, we wait for the target to breach."
