Chapter 4: What Patricia Knew
"What do you mean it's not the first time?" I asked.
Patricia was quiet for a moment.
I could hear her breathing, careful and deliberate, like someone choosing each word before releasing it.
"Jason's younger sister," she said.
"Claire.
Before she moved to Portland.
Before she stopped coming to family events entirely."
"I've met Claire twice," I said.
"Diane told Jason she was difficult.
Antisocial."
"Claire left because of what Diane did to her son.
Jason's nephew.
He was three years old." Patricia paused.
"Diane called it discipline then too."
The room felt very still.
"Why didn't anyone say anything?"
"Because Diane controls the money," Patricia said.
"She controls Jason's inheritance, Brooke's apartment, the family business account that three cousins depend on.
When you control the money, you control the silence."
I sat down on the edge of Dana's couch.
"Patricia — would you be willing to say this to an attorney?"
"I'm calling you because I already decided the answer to that question," she said.
"I want Claire's number back.
I want to tell her it's finally happening.
Can you give me your attorney's contact?"
I gave her Carol Vance's direct line.
After I hung up, I sat without moving for a long time.
Dana came in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel.
She looked at my face and sat down across from me.
"What happened?"
"There was another child," I said.
"Before Lily."
Dana set the towel down slowly.
"Claire's son," I said.
"He was three."
We sat with that for a moment.
"Does Jason know?" Dana asked.
"I don't know what Jason knows," I said.
"I'm not sure it matters anymore."
The next morning, Carol called at eight.
"Patricia Vance reached out last night," she said.
"She's not related to you, is she?"
"No.
Common name." A brief pause.
"She's credible, Emily.
She was present at two incidents involving Claire's son.
She has photographs she kept for nine years because she didn't know what else to do with them.
She also has a voicemail from Diane — from eight years ago — telling her to stay out of family business or lose her place at the table."
"Diane left that on a voicemail?"
"People who believe they're untouchable get careless," Carol said.
"I'm filing a motion this afternoon to expand the scope of the proceedings.
Diane's history with other children in this family is now directly relevant."
I was quiet.
"There's something else," Carol said.
"I had a paralegal pull the livestream request this morning.
The platform confirmed the stream was terminated manually at 8:47 p.m.
— four seconds after the incident.
The data is preserved.
They've flagged it for legal hold."
Four seconds.
Brooke had watched her mother str*ke Lily across the face and ended the stream in four seconds.
"Carol," I said.
"Brooke came to my sister's door yesterday morning.
She brought the attorney's letter.
She said her mother sent her."
"Did she say anything else?"
"She didn't answer when I asked how long Diane had been building the case against me."
"That non-answer is interesting," Carol said.
"I'd like to speak with Brooke."
"She won't talk to you willingly."
"She might," Carol said, "when she understands that the livestream data puts her in the room with a documented timestamp.
Right now she's a witness.
If she destroyed or attempted to suppress that footage, she becomes something else."
I thought about Brooke standing in Dana's hallway.
The mascara.
The yesterday's clothes.
The way her eyes had moved when I asked the question.
"She was scared," I said.
"When she came to the door.
She wasn't delivering that envelope for her mother.
She was warning me."
Carol was quiet for a beat.
"Then she may be ready to talk," she said.
"Can you reach her without going through Jason or Diane?"
"I have her number."
"Send her one message," Carol said.
"Keep it short.
Tell her you know she ended the stream.
Tell her you're not her enemy.
Tell her Carol Vance's office is a safe place to tell the truth."
I wrote the message three times before I sent it.
Brooke's reply came forty minutes later.
Two words: *When?
Where?*
That afternoon, Jason appeared at Dana's building.
He didn't buzz up.
He stood on the sidewalk below and called my phone.
"Emily.
We need to talk.
In person.
Without the lawyers."
"Everything goes through Carol Vance now," I said.
"Mom is willing to drop the filing," he said.
"If you come home.
If we handle this privately."
My jaw tightened.
"She str*ck our daughter, Jason."
"She's sixty-two years old and she panicked and she knows she went too far—"
"She filed a custody claim the same night," I said.
"Before Lily's cheek stopped swelling.
That is not panic.
That is a plan."
Silence.
"Come home," he said again.
His voice cracked slightly at the edge.
"Please.
I can't do this without you."
I looked out the window.
He was standing on the sidewalk below, phone pressed to his ear, shoulders forward, the posture of a man who had never once had to stand up for anything and was only now beginning to understand the cost of that.
"You had three years to do this with me," I said.
"You chose not to."
I ended the call.
Lily was napping in the next room.
I could hear her breathing through the baby monitor Dana had set up on the shelf.
My phone lit up again.
Not Jason this time.
A number I didn't recognize.
A Chicago area code.
I answered.
"Mrs.
Bennett?" A woman's voice.
Measured, professional.
"This is Sandra Okafor from the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services.
I'd like to schedule a home visit."
"Of course," I said.
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning, if that works.
Nine a.m."
"We'll be here," I said.
I set the phone down and looked at the baby monitor.
May you like
The breathing on the other end was soft and even.
I stayed very still and listened to it for a long time.
