The slap rang through Thanksgiving dinner so sharply that every fork in the room froze halfway to someone’s mouth.

While Frank Peterson was having an existential coronary in his study, the legal gears of Cook County were grinding toward their next objective.

At 9:45 AM, two marked Chicago Police cruisers and an unmarked black sedan pulled up to the curb outside the Peterson brownstone on Astor Street.

The front door opened, and Frank stepped out onto the porch, clutching a leather portfolio, followed by Mark, who looked like he hadn't slept in three days. They were on their way to the criminal courthouse at 26th and California to post bail for Megan, who was scheduled to appear before Judge Jenkins in fifteen minutes.

They never made it to the sidewalk.

Four uniformed officers and a plainclothes detective stepped through the wrought-iron gate, blocking the bottom of the steps.

"Frank Peterson?" Detective Miller asked, holding up her gold badge.

Frank stopped, his face flushed with irritation. "Detective, we are on our way to an emergency court hearing. If this is about the incident last night, my attorney will be in contact with your precinct this afternoon."

"I’m not here about last night, Mr. Peterson," Detective Miller said calmly, pulling a folded warrant from her breast pocket. "I have a warrant for the arrest of Mark Peterson."

Mark stumbled backward onto the top step, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What? For what? I didn't touch Lily! I wasn't even near Megan when she slapped her! You can't arrest me!"

"Mark Peterson, you are being placed under arrest for felony child endangerment, accessory to battery of a minor, and unlawful restraint," Detective Miller recited, walking up the steps with handcuffs already drawn. "Under Illinois law, a parent who knowingly permits the physical abuse of their minor child and participates in locking that child outside in sub-freezing temperatures is criminally liable for the resulting endangerment."

"This is an outrage!" Frank shouted, thrusting his finger into the detective's face. "Do you know who I am? Do you know who my family is? My son is a vice president at LaSalle Capital!"

"Sir, take your hands out of my face, or you will be arrested for obstruction of justice," the detective warned, her voice dropping into an icy monotone that brooked zero argument.

Two officers moved past Frank, grabbed Mark by both arms, and spun him around against the brick exterior of the brownstone.

"Chloe did this!" Mark screamed, thrashing against the officers as the cold steel handcuffs clicked around his wrists. "Chloe, you psycho! I am your husband! I am Lily’s father!"

Neighbors from the surrounding multi-million-dollar townhouses were stepping out onto their balconies, their morning coffees in hand, watching the Peterson heir being shoved down his own front steps in broad daylight. A jogger stopped on the sidewalk across the street, pulled out an iPhone, and began recording the entire scene.

"Dad! Call Miller! Call the firm!" Mark sobbed as he was pushed into the back of the squad car. "Don't let them take me!"

Carol Peterson burst through the front door in her silk dressing gown, her hair in rollers, screaming like a wounded animal. "What are you doing to my boy? Stop it! Leave him alone!"

Detective Miller turned to Carol, pulling a second legal document from her portfolio.

"Carol Peterson?" the detective asked.

Carol froze on the porch, her chest heaving. "Yes! What do you want?"

"You are being formally served with an emergency order of protection issued by the Cook County Circuit Court," Detective Miller said, handing the paper to Carol, who looked at it as if it were a venomous snake. "You, Frank Peterson, and Megan Peterson are legally prohibited from coming within one thousand feet of Chloe Hayes, Lily Peterson, or the St. Jude Early Childhood Center. Any attempt to contact them directly, through third parties, or via social media will result in your immediate arrest."

"Social media?" Carol gasped.

"Your Instagram post from two hours ago has already been logged as a violation of the preliminary non-harassment injunction," Detective Miller added. "If it isn't down in ten minutes, a warrant will be issued for your arrest for contempt of court."

Frank stood on the sidewalk, his expensive overcoat flapping open in the wind, watching the cruiser carrying his son pull away from the curb. His daughter was in a holding cell; his son was in the back of a police car; his fourteen-million-dollar business was sixty hours away from insolvency; and the neighbors he had spent forty years trying to impress were currently uploading videos of his family's humiliation to TikTok.

His phone rang again.

It was his chief financial officer.

Frank answered with trembling fingers. "What is it, David?"

"Frank, where are you?" the CFO's voice was frantic, sounding on the verge of tears. "Mid-Continental just froze our corporate treasury accounts! The fuel supplier for our Midwest fleet just canceled our credit line! Our trucks are sitting at the distribution hub in Joliet and the drivers can't get diesel! What the hell is happening?"