Chapter 3 - The Ambush at Sunrise
At 7:15 the following morning, my phone began ringing. It wasn't the group chat this time. It was the building intercom system.
I walked over to the wall monitor. The wide-angle lens showed two figures standing in the concrete entryway of my apartment complex: my mother, Bethany, clutching her designer leather handbag like a shield, and my father, Arthur, his hands shoved deep into his windbreaker pockets, looking irritated.
I didn't buzz them in. I picked up my phone and dialed the building manager.
"Marcus? It’s Kallie in 402. There are two people at the pedestrian gate trying to get in. They do not have permission to access the property. If they tailgate another tenant, please call the towing company and notify the police for trespassing."
"Got it, Kallie. Security's on it."
I walked over to Paisley, who was sitting on the living room rug stacking oversized wooden blocks. The swelling on her cheek had hardened, the handprint now a dark, ugly mosaic of ruptured blood vessels. She looked up at me and smiled, her little toothy grin innocent and pure.
"Pancake, Mama?" she asked.
"All the pancakes you want, sweet girl," I said, kissing the uninjured side of her forehead.
My cell phone buzzed. It was my mother.
I decided to answer. I pressed the record button on my computer interface to capture the call.
"Kallie!" Bethany hissed the moment the line connected. "Buzz us up right now. We are standing out here in the freezing damp air like common criminals. Your father’s sciatica is acting up."
"You shouldn't be standing there at all, Bethany," I said evenly. "Who gave you this address?"
A beat of hesitation. "That doesn't matter. Clara found your lease paperwork in the glovebox of your old car when you traded it in. We are your parents! You do not lock us out."
"You have thirty seconds to leave the premises before building security escorts you off, or the police arrive. Take your pick."
"How dare you!" Her voice shrilled, cracking with that familiar, theatrical indignation she had used to control me my entire life. "We came here to help you! Seth is a wreck! He didn't sleep all night because of your little temper tantrum!"
"My temper tantrum?" I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Your thirty-two-year-old son assaulted a baby."
"He did not assault her! He corrected her! And now the police showed up at his apartment an hour ago asking questions! Did you call the police on your own brother, Kallie? Are you out of your mind?!"
"The hospital called them, Mother. Because medical professionals recognize child abuse when they see a handprint burned into a toddler's cheek."
"You cancel that report immediately," she commanded, her voice dropping into an ugly, guttural growl. "You go down to the precinct and tell them you made a mistake. You tell them Paisley fell. If you ruin Seth’s career over this, I swear to God, Kallie, you are dead to this family. He is up for senior partner at the accounting firm. A domestic charge will destroy his life!"
"His life?" My voice rose slightly, cold and venomous. "What about Paisley’s life? What about the fact that she wakes up crying every time someone raises their hand near her?"
"Children forget!" Bethany screamed into the receiver. "She's two! She won't even remember this next week! But Seth’s record will be ruined forever! You are being selfish, just like your father always said! An ungrateful, bitter little girl who can't stand seeing her brother succeed!"
"Goodbye, Bethany."
"Don't you hang up on me—"
I disconnected the call.
Through the front window overlooking the parking lot, I watched two private security guards approach my parents. My father puffed out his chest, waving his arms aggressively, but the guards were younger, taller, and entirely unimpressed. After a two-minute shouting match, my father grabbed my mother's arm and dragged her toward their Lexus.
Before she got into the passenger seat, Bethany turned toward the apartment building, flipped her middle finger toward the windows, and spit onto the pavement.
Classy. Elegant. Just as she had always pretended to be.
My phone chimed with an incoming email. It was from Evelyn Vance, the top family and civil litigation attorney in San Diego, whom I had retained at 6:00 AM with the entirety of my emergency savings.
*Subject: Case Evaluation & Strategy*
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*Kallie: I reviewed the audio recording and the urgent care photos. In twenty-two years of practice, I have rarely seen a case so clear-cut, or a family so reckless. We are not just defending against their threats. We are going on the offensive. Be at my office at 1:00 PM. Bring everything.*
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