Chapter 7 - THE HAMMER
James read Dad's text and swore under his breath.
I sent it to Ramirez.
She called almost immediately.
"Do not contact your father about the memory card," she said. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes."
"And save that message."
"Already did."
The next day, a detective came to my parents' house.
Dad handed over the smashed card voluntarily and claimed it had been damaged because he was "cleaning old electronics."
Apparently he forgot he had photographed the hammer first.
Lauren hired a lawyer.
By Friday, her lawyer was calling the video "an unlawfully copied, contextless family recording."
Contextless.
I wanted to scream.
What context made slapping a six-month-old acceptable?
James' command opened a routine inquiry into Lauren's complaint. He was temporarily moved away from a training role while statements were collected.
He acted calm.
I knew him better.
At two in the morning, I found him in Emma's room, sitting in the rocking chair with her asleep against his chest.
"You should be in bed," I whispered.
"So should you."
I leaned against the doorway.
"Are you scared?"
He looked down at Emma.
"I'm angry. There's a difference."
"About work?"
"About your family teaching you that protecting yourself is somehow cruel."
That landed harder than I expected.
The next morning, Mom appeared at our front door alone.
She looked ten years older.
"Your father doesn't know I'm here," she said.
I didn't invite her in right away.
"Why are you here?"
She held a cardboard Christmas ornament box against her chest.
"Because your father didn't destroy the only copy."
My breath caught.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Then she opened the box.
Under a layer of tissue paper and plastic angels was a tiny silver flash drive.
"I downloaded the footage before he smashed the card," she whispered.
I stared at her.
"Why?"
May you like
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Because I knew this day was coming."
