D195.My sixteen-year-old son had already slapped his six-year-old sister twice when I walked through the front door.

By noon on Saturday, the storm inside our house had quieted into a tense, agonizing siege.

My sister Karen sat on the living room rug with Lily, patiently helping her piece together a wooden jigsaw puzzle. Lily’s cheek was still marked with a faded purplish bruise, but the terror from the night before had settled into a quiet, watchful confusion. Every time someone walked past the living room archway, Lily’s eyes darted upward, checking for danger.

Ethan was sitting at the dining table, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

He hadn't touched his breakfast. He hadn't looked at his computer. For five hours, he had sat there in silence, listening to Julian and me trace the digital threads of his own unraveling.

When I placed Mason’s unlocked phone on the table next to his, alongside the forensic report Julian had generated, Ethan didn't look angry. He looked hollowed out, as if the person he had been twelve hours ago had been stripped away, leaving only raw nerve endings.

"Aunt Victoria?" Ethan’s voice was barely a whisper. "Why would Aunt Victoria hate me that much?"

"She doesn't hate you, Ethan," I said, sitting beside him and pulling his hands into mine. His skin was ice-cold. "She doesn't care enough about you to hate you. Victoria only cares about control, power, and money. To her, you weren't a nephew. You were an obstacle between her and your father’s estate."

"I hit Lily," Ethan whispered, his lip trembling violently. "Aunt Victoria didn't make my hand move, Mom. I did that. I looked at Lily, and I was so furious... I wanted to hurt her."

The confession hung in the air like a cloud of toxic gas.

I looked across the room at my little girl, then back at my son.

"You did hit her," I said, refusing to lie to him. "And that is something you will carry, learn from, and spend the rest of your life making right. But you were poisoned, Ethan. Someone fed you poison for sixty days, knowing exactly what would happen when your system couldn't take any more. You made a terrible choice. But you are not a monster. And I will not let her take you from me."

Before Ethan could answer, Karen appeared in the doorway, her phone pressed to her ear. Her face was as pale as paper.

"Sarah," Karen whispered, covering the microphone. "It’s Ms. Gable from DCFS. She’s moving the hearing up to tomorrow morning. Someone filed an expedited emergency petition with the county family court."

My heart seized. "Tomorrow is Sunday!"

"Victoria’s local counsel filed an emergency ex-parte motion," Julian said, his eyes scanning his laptop screen from the end of the table. "They cited the viral video, an anonymous affidavit claiming Ethan has a history of violent outbursts, and a formal request for immediate protective custody to be transferred to out-of-state family."

"She’s moving in for the kill," I said, standing up. "She knows we’re poking around Mason. She’s trying to get the judge to sign the custody transfer before we can get our evidence authenticated by the police."

"Can they do that?" Ethan asked, panic finally breaking through his numb facade. "Can they take me away tomorrow?"

"Not if we break her narrative first," Julian said, turning his laptop toward us.

On the screen was an incoming message thread on Mason’s phone from the burner dashboard.

*“Final payment of $2,000 will be deposited into your account upon confirmation that Ethan has been removed from the residence. Confirm status.”*

The message had been sent ten minutes ago.

I stared at the screen, my mind racing through scenarios. The police were too slow. The legal channels were clogged with red tape. If we walked into court tomorrow morning with just screenshots and Julian's private analysis, Victoria’s high-priced attorneys would claim the data was tampered with, demand a six-week evidentiary hearing, and in the meantime, Ethan and Lily would be placed into state custody.

We couldn't just present evidence.

We had to catch Victoria with her hand inside the trap.

"Julian," I said, a dangerous idea taking shape in my mind. "Can Mason's phone reply to that message without alerting her that the device has been mirrored?"

Julian smiled—a cold, sharp baring of teeth. "Sarah, I control the proxy now. Mason’s phone is running through my private server. We can make that phone say whatever we want, and she’ll see it originating from Mason’s bedroom in Oakridge."

I turned to Ethan. He was watching me, his eyes wide, sensing the shift in the room.

"Ethan," I said, crouching down so I was eye-level with him. "For two months, this woman made you play a role in her script. Now you’re going to help me write the ending."

"What do I have to do?"