Chapter 6: The First Confrontation
The hospital corridor smelled of antiseptic and recycled air.
Delilah had been taken directly to a pediatric assessment room, and a nurse named Carla had positioned herself at the door with the quiet authority of someone who had done this before and intended to do it correctly.
Charlotte sat in a chair just outside the room, still in her gray hoodie, her worn sneakers leaving small damp prints on the linoleum.
A CPS emergency worker named Diane Marsh had arrived twenty minutes after the ambulance — a woman in her fifties with reading glasses pushed up on her head and a voice that carried the specific steadiness of someone who had sat in too many hospital corridors to be rattled by one more.
Terrence was standing at the end of the corridor when the elevator opened.
Douglas Sinclair walked out.
He had changed his jacket.
His hair was dry.
He looked, Terrence thought, like a man arriving for a scheduled appointment.
"Officer Callahan." Douglas's voice was pleasant.
"I appreciate you keeping them safe.
I'll take it from here."
"Mr.
Sinclair—"
"*Doctor* Sinclair."
"Dr.
Sinclair." Terrence didn't move from the center of the corridor.
"Your daughters are currently under a protective medical hold pending assessment.
You won't be able to take them tonight."
Douglas's pleasant expression didn't waver.
"I have an emergency custody order."
"I'm aware of it.
It's being reviewed by the county duty attorney."
"It was signed by a sitting judge."
"It's being reviewed," Terrence said again.
Douglas looked at him for a moment.
Then he looked past him, down the corridor, toward the room where Delilah was being assessed and Charlotte was sitting in her chair.
"You're making a significant mistake," Douglas said.
"I want you to understand that clearly.
I'm not a man without resources, and I'm not a man without friends.
Whatever you think you found tonight — a syringe, some pharmacy record — I can explain every piece of it.
Delilah has a documented condition.
The medication is prescribed and appropriate.
What you have is a frightened child who misunderstood what she saw, and an overzealous officer who decided to make something out of nothing."
"She didn't misunderstand the dates," Terrence said.
Douglas went still.
"Seven dates," Terrence continued.
"Going back four months.
Written down by a seven-year-old because she was scared no one would believe her.
She hid the paper in her hoodie pocket.
Not her shoe — that's where she hid the syringe.
The paper she kept closer."
Something moved behind Douglas's eyes.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Something more calculated than fear.
"Children have vivid imaginations," he said.
"Dr.
Sinclair, I'm going to ask you to wait in the family consultation room at the end of the hall.
A hospital social worker will come to speak with you shortly."
"I'm not waiting anywhere.
Those are my daughters."
"They are," Terrence said.
"And right now the best thing you can do for them is let the medical team do their work without interference.
If Delilah has a documented condition, that documentation will be part of the assessment.
Everything will be considered."
Douglas looked at him for a long time.
"You have no idea what you've stepped into," he said quietly.
"Maybe not," Terrence said.
"But I know what I stepped into at 4:17 this afternoon.
And so does my sergeant.
And so does the duty attorney.
And so does the CPS worker sitting twenty feet behind me."
Douglas's gaze moved past Terrence to where Diane Marsh had risen from her chair and was watching the exchange with her notepad open.
His jaw tightened once.
May you like
Then he straightened his jacket and walked toward the consultation room.
Terrence didn't turn around until the door clicked shut behind him.
