Chapter 3 - The Cold Light of the ICU
The St. Paul Regional Hospital emergency room smelled of antiseptic, sharp rubbing alcohol, and old fear.
By 2:00 AM, the doctor had placed twelve delicate stitches along my left temple, carefully shaving away a small patch of my hair to seal the laceration. My head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, and a deep, purple-green bruise had blossomed across my cheekbone down to my jawline.
Sitting in the vinyl armchair beside my hospital bed was my attorney, Sarah Chen—a fierce, brilliant woman who had been my closest friend since our days at the University of Minnesota.
"The police report is already filed," Sarah said, setting two hot cups of tea on the bedside tray. "Jackson was booked at the Ramsey County Jail at 1:15 AM. Because of the severity of the wound and the weapon used—a heavy ceramic plate—he’s being held on Second-Degree Assault with a Dangerous Weapon. No bail until he sees a magistrate tomorrow morning."
I swallowed two pain relievers and took a slow sip of the warm tea. "What about Arthur?"
"Arthur tried to use his corporate leverage to get the night judge to sign an emergency bail release," Sarah snorted softly, her eyes glinting with professional satisfaction. "The night judge happened to be Judge Margaret Davis—the same judge who sits on the board of the St. Paul Women's Shelter. She took one look at the scene photos your paramedics took and denied the emergency petition."
I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the tea settle my stomach. "Genesis thinks she can still push me out of my apartment, Sarah. She thinks because Jackson and I are married, she has a legal right to reside in my property."
Sarah pulled a manila folder from her leather briefcase and laid it across my lap.
"She’s in for a violent awakening," Sarah said firmly. "Your apartment on Grand Avenue was purchased four years before your marriage. It was paid for entirely via your personal trust from your late grandmother and your architectural salary. You never placed Jackson’s name on the deed, correct?"
"Never," I said. "He tried to convince me to put him on the title twice last year, claiming it would help our joint tax returns. I refused."
"Smart girl," Sarah smiled coldly. "I’ve already drafted an Emergency Ex Parte Order for Protection. The moment Jackson steps out of that jail—if he manages to post bail tomorrow—he will be legally barred from coming within five hundred feet of you, your apartment building, or the Vanguard Urban Design corporate offices. If he violates it, he goes straight back to a cell."
Just then, the heavy curtain surrounding my hospital bed was pulled back with a sharp jerk.
Standing in the entryway was Arthur Vance. He was still wearing his tailored suit, but his tie was loosened, his hair was unkempt, and his face was drawn with exhaustion and fury. Behind him stood Genesis, wearing dark sunglasses inside the dimly lit hospital ward to hide her tear-swollen eyes.
"Maya," Arthur said, his voice deep, booming, and filled with unearned corporate authority as he stepped into the room. "We need to put an end to this hysteria right now."
Sarah stood up instantly, stepping between Arthur and my bed like an iron shield. "Mr. Vance, you are in a private medical facility speaking to a victim of a violent crime. State your business or I will have hospital security remove you."
Arthur ignored Sarah, glaring directly at me over her shoulder.
"Maya, listen to me very carefully," Arthur commanded, lowering his voice into a sharp, threatening murmur. "Jackson made a mistake tonight. He lost his temper. It was wrong, and he knows it. But you have taken this completely out of hand. You have ruined his reputation, you have endangered his career, and you are publicly smearing our family name."
I looked at my father-in-law—the man who had spent three years treating me like a hired servant at family holidays, the man who had looked down at his plate while his son threw a piece of heavy ceramic at my head.
"I didn't smear your family name, Arthur," I said, my voice steady despite the pounding in my skull. "Your son smashed a plate against my skull. He smeared your family name with my blood."
"We are prepared to offer you a settlement," Genesis interjected, stepping out from behind her husband, her voice dropping into that poisonous, transactional tone she used when bribing her socialite peers. "We will pay for your medical bills. We will pay for your cosmetic recovery. And we will give you a fifty-thousand-dollar cash stipend for your... troubles. In exchange, you will drop the civil claims, tell the District Attorney you do not wish to cooperate with the prosecution, and sign over the temporary lease of your Grand Avenue apartment to me."
I stared at her in absolute, stunning disbelief. Even now—with her son sitting in a jail cell, with twelve stitches in my head—she was still demanding my home. She was still trying to buy her way out of reality.
I turned to Sarah. "Sarah, what is the legal term for offering money to a victim to alter their testimony in a felony prosecution?"
Sarah smiled, a predatory, brilliant expression. "That would be Bribery of a Witness under Minnesota Statute 609.498, Maya. A Class D felony carrying up to five years in state prison."
Genesis’s mouth snapped shut. Arthur went rigid, his eyes darting toward the small recording pin pinned to Sarah’s blazer lapel—a pin that had been blinking red since the moment they pulled back the curtain.
"You have ten seconds to get out of my sight," I told my in-laws softly. "Or the District Attorney will be adding two more names to the indictment file tomorrow morning."
May you like
Arthur pulled Genesis back by her arm, his face dark with venom. "You will regret this, Maya," he whispered. "We will destroy you in court. You won't have a penny left by the time my firm is done with you."
"Bring your firm, Arthur," I said, pulling the hospital blanket up to my chest. "I’ll bring the truth."
