Chapter 5: The First Strike
Jason came to the apartment at seven the next morning.
I heard the knock and checked the peephole before I opened the door.
He was alone.
No Diane.
No Brooke.
He was wearing the same shirt from the night before, collar open, his glasses replaced by the spare pair he kept in his car.
The left lens had a small crack in it.
I opened the door but didn't step back.
"Lily's still sleeping," I said.
"I need to talk to you."
"Then talk."
He looked past me into the apartment.
His jaw tightened.
"Can I come in?"
"No."
He looked at me then.
Really looked.
Something moved across his face — not guilt, not quite.
More like a man recalculating.
"Emily.
My mother is sixty-two years old.
She lost her temper for one second—"
"She str\*ck our two-year-old daughter across the face at a dinner table in front of five witnesses and a livestream."
"She didn't mean—"
"Jason." I kept my voice level.
"I was at the clinic until midnight.
I have a pediatric report.
I have photographs.
I have thirty-seven other items that predate last night.
I have an attorney.
And I have a meeting with DCFS on Thursday." I watched his face.
"Is there something else you wanted to say?"
His mouth opened.
Closed.
"You called DCFS."
"DCFS was called automatically.
Dr.
Howard filed a mandatory report.
That's how mandatory reporting works."
"Emily, if DCFS gets involved—"
"They're already involved."
He put one hand on the doorframe.
His knuckles were pale.
"My mother could lose her license," he said.
"She's a licensed family therapist.
If there's a formal finding—"
"She str\*ck a toddler."
"You don't understand what you're doing to this family."
"I understand exactly what I'm doing." I held the door.
"Go home, Jason.
Talk to your attorney.
And tell your mother that the next time she contacts me directly, I'll be adding it to the file."
I closed the door.
He knocked twice more.
Then I heard the elevator.
I leaned against the door and breathed.
Grace had been right.
Forty-eight hours.
Diane Bennett was a licensed family therapist.
That was the thing they were most afraid of losing — not the marriage, not the relationship.
The license.
The professional standing.
The identity she had built on telling other families how to behave.
I picked up my phone and texted Grace: *Jason came to the apartment.
Mentioned the license.
No threats, but he knows about DCFS.*
Her reply came in four minutes: *Good.
That means they've talked to their attorney.
Stay calm.
Don't engage further.
I have news — call me at nine.*
At nine, Lily was eating toast at the kitchen table and I was standing at the window with my coffee.
"The investigator found something," Grace said.
"Robert Bennett — Jason's father — changed his will six months before he d*ed.
He removed Diane as primary beneficiary and added a trust for a minor child."
I set my coffee down.
"Mara's daughter."
"Yes.
The child's name is Sophie.
Robert Bennett left a trust of four hundred thousand dollars in her name.
Diane contested the will.
The contest was settled privately eighteen months after Robert d*ed." Grace paused.
"The settlement terms are sealed.
But the trust no longer exists."
"She took it."
"We believe so.
The investigator is pulling financial records.
There's also a question about the attorney who handled the settlement — he's the same attorney who managed the paperwork when Mara's protective filing went quiet."
My hand was very still on the windowsill.
"The same attorney."
"Yes."
"Grace — is that—"
"Potentially.
Yes." Another pause.
"Emily, I need you to understand something.
This started as a family court matter.
It may not stay one."
Lily held up a piece of toast.
"Mama.
Bite?"
"In a second, baby."
"Take your time," Grace said.
"But not too much of it.
I'm filing for emergency protective custody today — standard given the DCFS trigger and the medical report.
Jason will be served this afternoon."
"He was just at my door."
"I know.
Which is why I'm filing this morning and not tomorrow." A brief pause.
"One more thing.
Brooke posted something last night."
"What?"
"A video.
Edited from the livestream.
It starts after you crossed the room.
It doesn't show what Diane did to Lily.
It shows you sl\*pping Jason."
The toast.
Lily's small hand.
The yellow socks, a different pair today, green with white dots.
May you like
"How many views?" I asked.
"As of an hour ago," Grace said, "forty-seven thousand."
