Chapter 3 - Unraveling the Threads
By Monday morning, the Denver sun was blazing down on the brick courthouse downtown, but inside Preston’s chambers, the atmosphere felt like a deep-freeze. I insisted on being discharged early, refusing to stay another night in a bed where shadows seemed to lurk behind every curtain. Instead, we went straight to Preston’s office, where Detective Marcus Vance was already waiting with a stack of manila folders spread across the mahogany desk.
Marcus was a tall, broad-shouldered man with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that missed nothing. He tossed a printed call log onto the desk as we walked in.
“Your mystery caller used a decentralized VoIP burner app routed through three different proxy servers in Eastern Europe,” Marcus said without preamble, handing me a paper cup of black coffee before turning back to Preston. “Good luck getting a physical IP address without a federal warrant, which I’m already drafting. But the real story isn't the phone call, Judge. It’s what we found on Brenda’s accounts.”
I sank into the leather armchair, feeling the dull ache in my abdomen remind me of yesterday’s violence. “What did you find?”
Marcus pulled out a bank statement and slid it toward us. “Over the last four months, Brenda’s personal checking account received five separate wire transfers of ten thousand dollars each. Fifty thousand dollars total. Coming from a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands called Meridian Holdings.”
Preston leaned over the desk, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the transaction dates. “Meridian Holdings. That’s the same corporate vehicle used by Victor Vance-Smith’s legal defense fund during the zoning fraud trial last year.”
I gasped, looking between them. “Victor Vance-Smith? The developer you barred from bidding on municipal contracts?”
“The very same,” Preston said, standing up and walking toward the tall, arched window overlooking the courthouse plaza. “I ruled against his downtown high-rise project because he violated city environmental codes. He lost twenty million dollars on that parcel. He swore in open court that he would make me regret the day I took the bench.”
“He didn’t just make a threat, Preston,” Marcus added grimly. “He used Brenda. She’s been drowning in gambling debts and high-interest loans for two years—debts Gary didn't even know about. Meridian Holdings stepped in, paid off every penny of her credit cards, and handed her spending cash. All she had to do in return was keep tabs on your family gatherings, gather intel on your routines, and wait for an opportunity to strike.”
The room seemed to spin. My own sister—the girl I shared secrets with, the girl I defended against our parents’ strict rules when we were teenagers—had sold out my unborn child for fifty thousand dollars and paid-off credit cards.
“She knew I was pregnant,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. “She knew I was six months along. She aimed straight for my stomach.”
Preston turned from the window. His face was completely devoid of emotion, but his eyes burned with an icy, terrifying intensity. It was the look of a man who had reached the absolute limit of judicial patience.
“She crossed the line from family dispute into criminal conspiracy,” Preston said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Marcus, I want a warrant for her arrest on charges of conspiracy to commit aggravated assault and solicitation of harm against an unborn child.”
Marcus hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Judge... Brenda is your wife’s sister. If we arrest her publicly, the media circus will be relentless. The Denver Post will run front-page spreads about the judge whose family is tearing itself apart. Are you sure you want to go nuclear right now?”
May you like
Preston walked back to the desk, placed both hands flat on the polished wood, and looked his old friend dead in the eye.
“Marcus,” Preston said slowly, every word landing like a gavel strike. “She didn’t just target me. She tried to kill my child. There is no family left to protect. Issue the warrant.”
