Chapter 3 - The War Room
While Sophie was in surgery, I didn't sleep. I didn't drink coffee. I didn't sit down.
I turned my private office in the CMO wing into a tactical war room. By 3:00 AM, my family law attorney, Evelyn Reed, arrived carrying three leather briefcases stuffed with court filings, financial statements, and mediation logs from the last eighteen months.
Evelyn was a fierce, fifty-year-old woman with silver hair who had spent twenty years pulling women and children out of high-stakes, high-net-worth abusive marriages.
"Daniel’s defense firm has already filed an emergency petition with the duty judge," Evelyn said, dumping a stack of papers onto my desk. "They're claiming the hospital security camera footage is inadmissible due to HIPAA violations, and that the audio files on Sophie's phone were tampered with by you during her admission."
"They're lying," I said coldly. "The phone was taken directly from her boot by Nurse Sarah in front of three witnesses, logged into the trauma record, and handed directly to LAPD."
"I know that, and you know that," Evelyn said, taking off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose. "But Daniel’s lead attorney is Arthur Pendelton. He’s a ruthless shark who specializes in keeping wealthy abusers out of prison. He’s going to attack your credibility. He’s going to say you used your position as Chief Medical Officer to fabricate medical reports because you were losing the divorce settlement."
"Let him try," I picked up a pen and pulled out a fresh legal pad. "What do we have that Pendelton can't touch?"
"Three things," Evelyn held up three fingers.
"First: The ER security video from tonight. You were right—the audio warning signs posted in the trauma bay satisfy the statutory requirement for notice. Daniel spoke loudly and clearly. He admitted knowing she had injuries before she arrived, and he made a verbal threat in front of five medical staff members."
"Second: The pediatric radiology scans. The older, healed fractures cannot be faked. Bone callus formation takes weeks to develop. We can bring in an independent forensic pathologist to prove those injuries occurred while she was under his exclusive custody during his weekend visitations."
"And third?" I asked.
Evelyn's eyes hardened. "The money trail, Mara."
I frowned. "What money trail?"
Evelyn pulled a red folder from her briefcase. "Two days ago, I served a subpoena on Daniel’s private bank accounts. I was looking for hidden assets for the divorce settlement. I found three monthly payments of ten thousand dollars made to a private medical facility in Mexico."
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My blood went cold. "Why would he send money to a clinic in Mexico?"
"Because," Evelyn said, leaning across the desk, "Daniel’s first wife—Sophie's biological mother, Clara—didn't die of cancer six years ago like he told the court. She’s alive, Mara. And Daniel has been paying to keep her locked inside a private psychiatric institute in Tijuana under a false name."
