Chapter 3 - The Paper Trail
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of antiseptic and high-stakes maneuvering. Dr. Aris, a neurosurgeon who specialized in pediatric trauma, confirmed my fears: Eli had been struck with significant force, but he would recover.
"He’s going to be okay, Hannah," she said gently. "But the police want to know how the injury occurred. They aren't buying the 'fell down' story."
I didn't give them the 'fell down' story. I gave them everything. I had spent the night in the waiting room using my company-issued tablet, hacking into my father’s "private" network, which was surprisingly poorly protected once you knew the encryption keys—the same ones he’d taught me when I was a child, thinking I was too stupid to ever use them against him.
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I found bank statements linking my brother to the very thefts the medic had mentioned. I found emails detailing how my parents had been laundering money through their "charity" foundations. My family wasn't just abusing my son; they were using my home as a safe house for their criminal enterprises.
I printed everything. I walked into the Detective’s office, not as a weeping daughter, but as an auditor of their destruction.
