Chapter 7 - The Scars of an Angel
"Enough!" I shouted.
My voice was so laced with venom that even Dominic and Brooke stopped fighting, turning to look at me in terror.
"You think losing your money and your fake family is the punishment?" I whispered, my voice trembling with raw, unrestrained fury.
"That’s just business. Now, we talk about my son."
I nodded to Vance. The screen changed one final time.
The crowd, already reeling from the drama, let out a collective, horrifying gasp. Several women covered their mouths in shock. A man in the front row turned away, looking sick to his stomach.
On the giant screen were the high-definition medical photographs of Leo.
His bruised, battered knees. The terrifying thinness of his ribcage.
And the clear, unmistakable marks of cigarette burns on his inner thighs.
"This," I said, tears finally spilling from my eyes, not out of weakness, but out of a mother's rage.
"This is what happens when a father decides his child is 'defective'. This is what happens when a grandmother allows a mistress to treat a four-year-old boy like a stray dog!"
Dominic stared at the photos, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish.
"I... I didn't know... I swear, Clara, I was at work..."
"YOU TOLD HER TO KEEP HIM AWAY BECAUSE HE WOULD SCARE THE FAKE BABY!" I screamed, the sound tearing through the ballroom.
"You watched him crawl on the floor! You watched him push a ball with his forehead! You let them burn him!"
Victoria was shaking her head violently. "It wasn't me! It was Brooke! Brooke did it when he cried!"
"Shut up, you old hag!" Brooke screamed back. "You laughed! You said it built character for the little freak!"
The crowd was disgusted. The murmurs turned into angry shouts. These were wealthy, powerful people, but even they had a line.
Child abuse was the ultimate sin.
"You monsters," Mr. Harrison muttered in disgust. "You make me sick, Dominic."
"I have submitted these photos, along with the testimony of a pediatric trauma specialist, to the authorities," I said, my voice dropping back to a deadly calm.
Right on cue, the heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open.
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Five uniformed police officers, led by a stern-faced detective, marched into the room.
"Dominic Sterling, Victoria Sterling, and Brooke Davis," the detective said, his voice booming over the chaos. "You are all under arrest for severe child endangerment, abuse, and neglect."
