Chapter 8
Bright early-morning sunlight poured through the kitchen windows, illuminating a room that looked vastly different from the day before. By 8:00 AM, a locksmith had already replaced every exterior lock on the house and reprogrammed the garage door openers.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen island, surrounded by stacks of legal pads, financial ledgers, and three different laptops. His suit was gone, replaced by an old, faded college sweatshirt. A steaming mug of coffee sat untouched near his elbow as his fingers flew across a keyboard.
I rolled into the kitchen, using the modified tray attachment Dad had set up on my wheelchair so I could carry my breakfast plate without using my bandaged hands.
“How are the palms feeling today?” Dad asked immediately, closing his laptop screen halfway and turning his full attention to me.
“Better,” I said, setting the plate down. “The burn ointment the doctor gave us is working. It doesn't sting as much when I move my fingers.”
Dad nodded, a look of profound relief passing over his features before his expression settled back into one of intense determination.
“What are you working on?” I asked, gesturing to the mountain of paperwork surrounding him.
“Filing a formal complaint with the State Bar Association regarding Arthur Vance’s attempts to coerce me yesterday,” Dad said, tapping a stack of printed emails. “And establishing my independent legal practice.”
I paused, holding my glass of juice. “Independent? Dad… Julian said yesterday that you’d be bankrupt in three months if you left the firm.”
Dad gave a dry, confident laugh—the first real laugh I had heard from him in months. “Julian Vance is an arrogant corporate litigator who thinks money buys every outcome. What he doesn't know is that for the past five years, eighty percent of the firm’s high-value corporate clients didn't stay with Vance & Sterling because of Arthur or Julian. They stayed because I managed their litigation portfolios.”
He turned one of the laptop screens toward me. It displayed an inbox overflowing with dozens of unread emails and voicemail transcriptions.
“When word got out late last night that I had resigned,” Dad explained, pointing to the names on the screen, “my phone started ringing off the hook. The CEO of Apex Logistics, the board chair of St. Jude Health, and three major real estate developers have already left messages. They don't care about Arthur Vance’s social status. They want the lawyer who wins their cases.”
A tiny flicker of hope sparked in my chest. “So… we’re going to be okay?”
“We are going to be better than okay,” Dad said firmly. “I spent two years bending over backward to fit into Vanessa’s world, trying to climb a corporate ladder that wasn't even built for people like us. I’m done with all of it.”
Before I could answer, the doorbell rang—a loud, piercing chime that made us both freeze.
Dad’s expression instantly hardened. He stood up, walked to the front window, and peered through the blinds.
“Who is it?” I asked, holding my breath. “Is it Vanessa?”
“No,” Dad said, his brow furrowing in confusion. “It’s a police officer.”
Dad walked to the foyer and unlocked the new deadbolt, opening the door wide. Standing on the porch was a middle-aged female detective in a charcoal blazer, her badge clipped neatly to her belt, accompanied by a uniformed officer.
“Richard Sterling?” the detective asked politely.
“Yes,” Dad said. “Detective… Henderson, right? From the electronic filing system?”
“That’s correct,” Detective Henderson said, holding a thick manila folder under her arm. “May we step inside for a moment? We’ve reviewed the footage provided by The Grandview Estate, and we’ve completed our initial interview with the venue management and the photographer.”
“Of course,” Dad said, stepping aside to let them enter.
Detective Henderson walked into the living room, her eyes immediately finding me in my wheelchair. Her expression softened slightly, offering me a gentle nod of recognition.
“Hello, Maya,” she said softly. “I’m Detective Henderson. How are you holding up today?”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Just waiting to see what happens next.”
The detective pulled a tablet from her folder and tapped the screen, turning it toward my father. “Mr. Sterling, after reviewing the high-definition footage from Sector B, as well as the recovered hex key multi-tool impounded by the venue manager, the District Attorney’s office has officially approved charges against Vanessa Vance.”
Dad took a sharp breath. “What charges?”
“Reckless Endangerment in the First Degree, Unlawful Imprisonment in the Second Degree, and Tampering with Medical Assistive Equipment,” Detective Henderson read off the screen. “Because the service ramp leading to a twelve-foot drop-off was less than ten feet from the secured room, the DA is treating this as a high-severity endangerment event.”
May you like
Dad’s jaw tightened. “Has she been taken into custody?”
“Officers arrived at her residence two hours ago,” Detective Henderson replied calmly. “Ms. Vance was formally arrested at 7:15 this morning and is currently being processed at the central precinct.”
