Chapter 5: Grace Ellison
Grace Ellison's office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown, the kind of place with frosted glass doors and a receptionist who didn't smile until she'd confirmed your appointment twice.
I had called at 8 AM.
Grace had said come in at eleven.
I came in at eleven with a folder, two USB drives, and six months of camera footage backed up in three separate locations.
Grace was in her mid-fifties, sharp-eyed, unhurried.
She shook my hand and gestured to the chair across from her desk.
"Tell me what you have," she said.
I told her.
She took notes.
She didn't react to any of it — not the dog tray, not the fourteen nights, not the bedroom camera being deregistered — until I mentioned Lily being pulled by the wrist on the recording.
She put her pen down.
"How old is she?"
"Three."
Grace picked the pen back up.
"I want to see that clip specifically."
I showed her.
She watched it once, made a note, and said, "Okay.
Here's where you are."
She walked me through it plainly.
The footage of Lily under the table, eating from the dog tray, was relevant to a custody argument.
The footage of Lily being grabbed and dragged back to her room added to that.
The fourteen nights of an unknown man in the house while I was traveling — relevant to the marriage dissolution and potentially to the custody environment.
"The key your daughter mentioned," Grace said.
"Has the lock been changed?"
"Yesterday morning.
I had a locksmith meet me there while Sandra was out."
Grace nodded.
"Good.
Does Sandra have a lawyer?"
"Not that I know of."
"She will by the end of the week.
When she does, all communication goes through me.
You don't respond to her directly about anything related to the house, Lily, or finances.
Understood?"
"Understood."
"The mother-in-law." Grace tapped her notepad.
"Renata.
She was present when Lily was placed under the table?"
"On multiple recordings."
"And she admitted it last night in front of witnesses?"
"Paul was there.
My brother-in-law."
"Is Paul likely to cooperate?"
I thought about his face when I asked him directly.
The fork going down.
The silence.
"He's not loyal to Sandra," I said.
"He's loyal to Renata.
But he looked ashamed."
"Ashamed is useful," Grace said.
"I'll want a statement from him if he's willing."
She closed her notepad.
"I won't pretend this is simple.
Sandra will argue the dog tray was a one-time incident, that Lily exaggerated, that you're emotionally reactive and making decisions out of anger.
Her mother will back that story.
They'll have a version of events ready very quickly."
"I have the footage."
"You have footage of some events.
They'll argue context for the rest." She looked at me steadily.
"This is going to be a fight.
I want you prepared for that."
"I'm prepared."
"Good." She stood and extended her hand.
"Then let's begin."
I shook it.
Walking out through the frosted glass doors, I checked my phone.
Three missed calls from Sandra.
One from Renata.
One from a number I didn't recognize.
I didn't call any of them back.
But at the bottom of the missed calls list was a text from Paul.
It said: *I need to talk to you.
Not at the house.
Can we meet?*
I stopped walking in the middle of the lobby.
Paul had never once reached out to me independently in nine years of marriage.
He called Sandra.
He called Renata.
He sent group messages at Christmas.
He had never sent me a private message in his life.
I typed back: *Tomorrow morning.
You choose the place.*
His reply came in under a minute.
May you like
*There's something you don't know yet.
Something worse than Daniel.*
