Chapter 5 - The Lawyer's Bluff
The next morning smelled like burnt coffee and impending war.
Evan was already dressed in his charcoal suit by six in the morning, sitting at the kitchen island with a legal pad covered in frantic scribbles.
Maisie was in her high chair, eating a banana.
Every time Evan reached across the table to pass a napkin, Maisie shrank back against the plastic seat, hiding her bruised face behind her tiny hands.
Evan didn't even notice. He was too busy talking on speakerphone with Arthur Vance.
“...and if she signs the affidavit by noon,” Arthur Vance’s gravelly voice droned through the speaker, “we can file an emergency injunction to block local news outlets from broadcasting the livestream footage on defamation grounds. We just need Clara’s signature confirming the video lacks context.”
I walked into the kitchen, wearing jeans, boots, and a black sweater.
I had already packed two large duffel bags and placed them by the back door.
“Clara,” Evan said, hitting the mute button on his phone with relief. “Arthur is on the line. He drafted the retraction. It’s simple, painless. It protects the family.”
“I’m not signing anything, Evan,” I said calmly, pouring a glass of whole milk for Maisie.
Evan let out a groan of exasperation, unmuting the phone. “Arthur, she’s being stubborn.”
“Put me on speaker, Evan,” Vance commanded.
The line clicked.
“Mrs. Hale,” Vance began in his smoothest, most patronizing courtroom tone. “I understand emotions are running exceptionally high. But let’s look at the cold, legal reality of your situation. You slapped your husband three times in front of witnesses. That is domestic battery. If you refuse to cooperate with us regarding the dismissal of Margaret’s child abuse allegations, I will advise Evan to immediately file assault charges against you.”
I took a sip of water and looked Evan directly in the eyes.
He wouldn't look back; his gaze was fixed firmly on the granite counter.
“Go ahead, Arthur,” I said into the phone. “File the charges.”
A pause on the other end.
Vance hadn't expected that.
“Mrs. Hale, that would mean your immediate arrest,” Vance warned, his tone hardening. “You would lose temporary custody of Maisie while the case is pending. You have no independent income that compares to the Hale family estate. A family court judge will grant Evan full custody within forty-eight hours.”
“I don't think you've checked the news this morning, Arthur,” I replied quietly.
Evan looked up, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“The local CBS affiliate ran the livestream snippet at five-thirty this morning,” I said. “The headline wasn't ‘Family Dispute.’ The headline was ‘Prominent Philanthropist Caught Striking Toddler on Live Video.’ Your client’s face is the thumbnail on the regional morning broadcast.”
Evan’s phone began buzzing with incoming call-waiting alerts.
Dozens of them.
“Furthermore,” I continued, leaning down toward the speaker, “if you file charges against me for slapping Evan after he sat by and allowed his mother to assault our daughter, I will happily stand before a jury and play the entire four minutes of unedited footage. Let’s see how an Oakridge jury views a mother defending her child versus a grown man protecting his mother’s pride.”
Silence fell over the line.
Arthur Vance cleared his throat, his authoritative facade cracking. “We... we can negotiate terms, Mrs. Hale.”
“There are no terms,” I said.
I reached out, pressed the red end-call button on Evan’s phone, and picked up Maisie from her high chair.
“Where are you going?” Evan asked, standing up so fast his chair screeched against the hardwood.
“To see my lawyer,” I said.
“Your lawyer?” Evan scoffed, trying to regain his footing. “With what money, Clara? You make forty thousand a year at the municipal archive! You can’t afford a retainer for a custody attorney in this county!”
I stopped at the doorway, holding Maisie against my hip.
“You really should have paid more attention to the family history you were so proud of, Evan,” I said softly.
“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded.
May you like
“It means you should have asked why your grandfather spent the last ten years of his life barely speaking to your mother,” I replied.
I walked out the door, loaded the duffel bags into the trunk, and drove straight into the historic downtown district.
