Chapter 4 - The Precinct and the Protocol
By noon the following day, the air inside the downtown police precinct smelled of cheap coffee, old paper, and bureaucratic despair.
I sat across a metal desk from Detective Sarah Jenkins, a sharp-eyed investigator with a silver streak in her dark hair and a demeanor that suggested she had seen every variety of human misery and corruption the city had to offer. Spread out across her desk were the printed photographs of the dining room table, the medical report from the hospital detailing Hannah’s current trauma and the healed bruising from the prior assault, and Hannah’s handwritten journal.
Detective Jenkins turned one of the photographs over slowly, her expression unreadable.
"You're alleging that your mother, alongside five other family members, physically restrained your eight-month-pregnant wife, forced her beneath furniture, and attempted to force contaminated food into her mouth," Detective Jenkins summarized, her voice steady and professional.
"Yes," I said, leaning forward. "My brother Mason blocked the front exit. My aunt Claire positioned chairs to form a barricade. My cousin Sarah supplied the napkins. And my mother led the assault."
Detective Jenkins looked up from the photos, her piercing blue eyes locking onto mine. "Mr. Vance, do you understand the gravity of these allegations? You're talking about a prominent, wealthy family in this county. Your mother sits on the board of the city hospital and the historical society. If we open an official criminal investigation into aggravated assault and domestic endangerment against six individuals, it's going to detonate publicly."
"Let it detonate," I said without hesitation. "They tried to hurt my wife and my unborn child. I don't care about their charity boards or their social standing. I care about justice."
The detective held my gaze for a long, agonizing moment, searching for any sign of hesitation, bluffing, or marital discord that might suggest a fabricated domestic dispute. Finding none, she nodded slowly.
"The medical report from Dr. Aris checks out," Detective Jenkins said, tapping a finger against the hospital paperwork. "The old injury documented six weeks ago—blunt force trauma consistent with being shoved against a hard wooden edge—matches your wife's account in this journal. That transforms this from a single isolated incident of harassment into a documented pattern of domestic abuse."
She reached for her desk phone.
"I'm going to issue formal summons for questioning for all six individuals named in the report," Detective Jenkins said crisply. "Starting with your brother, Mason. People like him—the ones who watch and guard the door—usually crack first when they realize they're facing felony accessory charges."
"Can you ensure they stay away from the hospital?" I asked, my heart hammering. "My wife is still recovering, and my mother has influence over the medical staff through her board connections."
May you like
Detective Jenkins offered a reassuring, razor-thin smile. "Mr. Vance, your wife is currently under federal-level protection protocols in that maternity ward. Not even a priest gets in without my express written sign-off. Go back to your wife. Let us handle the family."
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