Chapter 2 - THE DEED OF DECEITThe hospital room was sterile and silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Sarah was finally asleep, pumped full of painkillers and local anesthetics to ease the agony of the second-degree burn on her collarbone.
I sat by her bedside, holding her clammy hand, while two Chicago PD detectives stood near the door.
"Mr. Vance," Detective Miller said, tapping his notepad. "Your mother claims it was an accident. She says your wife fell during a postpartum manic episode, grabbed the curling iron to steady herself, and that she was merely trying to restrain her for her own safety."
"She burned her!" I roared, snapping my head toward him. "Did you look at the camera footage I showed you?!"
"We looked at the footage you provided from your app," the second officer said. "The camera angle in the hallway shows your mother entering the bathroom, but the interior shot is partially obscured by the frame. And the audio..." He hesitated. "The audio was distorted. Your mother’s lawyer has already filed a motion claiming the recording was altered or hacked."
"Hacked?!" I stood up, trembling with rage. "I designed the security system! It’s encrypted with 256-bit protocol!"
"That’s standard procedure for high-priced defense attorneys, Mr. Vance," Miller replied calmly. "Here’s the real problem: your mother wasn't arrested."
"What?" The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
"She walked out of the station an hour ago. She produced a registered quitclaim deed signed by your late father, as well as a trust document proving the property belongs to Margaret Vance Holdings LLC. Technically, she’s the sole legal owner of your estate. And she’s already filed an emergency restraining order against your wife, claiming Sarah poses a threat to the child."
"She locked my daughter in the nursery!" I yelled.
"And the baby was found safe, asleep in her crib," Miller countered. "Look, we know how this looks. But without clear video of the iron contacting skin, and with your mother holding the legal title to the house, this is turning into a domestic property dispute wrapped in a civil lawsuit. Until Child Protective Services clears their report, your mother is demanding access to her granddaughter."
I felt like I was drowning. The house I built to protect my family was being used as a cage to tear us apart.
Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was an unknown number.
I stepped out into the hallway to answer it.
"Ethan," my mother's voice cooed through the receiver.
"If you come anywhere near Sarah or Maya again, I will kill you myself," I gritted out.
"Save the theatricals, darling," she hissed, her tone flipping to pure ice. "Check your email. I’ve just sent you the custody filing. By tomorrow morning, I’m claiming full temporary guardianship of Maya on the grounds of Sarah's mental instability and your neglect."
"You’re insane! No judge will give you my daughter!"
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"They will when they see the toxicology report from Sarah's blood draw today," Margaret laughed softly. "Did you really think the vitamins I’ve been leaving for her every morning were just prenatals? Check her blood work, son. See what’s in her system."
The line went dead.
