Chapter 2 - The Medical Record
The emergency room was a chaotic blur of fluorescent lights and beeping monitors.
I sat in the hard plastic chair beside my mother’s bed, refusing to leave her side.
Dr. Evans, a veteran trauma physician, gently examined her swollen shoulder and ribcage.
"These are defensive wounds," the doctor said quietly, shining a light into my mother’s uninjured eye.
"The contusions on her forearm and shoulder indicate a heavy, cylindrical object swung with significant force."
I felt a cold fury settle into my bones.
"Like a baseball bat?" I asked.
The doctor nodded grimly, writing on his tablet.
"Exactly like a baseball bat," he confirmed.
"I will note in the official medical record that these injuries are entirely inconsistent with her being the primary aggressor."
I thanked him, my mind already calculating my next tactical move.
My phone vibrated in my pocket with a text from an unknown number.
It was from the rookie officer at the precinct desk.
The message read: "Landry ordered us to sweep the house and dispose of the weapon before dawn."
My blood ran cold, but my training immediately kicked in.
They were actively destroying evidence to protect Brooke.
I dialed a trusted colleague at the FBI field office, waking him up at four in the morning.
"Agent Miller, I need a federal evidence preservation order drafted and signed by a judge in the next hour," I demanded.
I explained the situation rapidly, outlining the local police corruption and the destruction of a crime scene.
"Consider it done, Clara," he promised.
I looked at my mother, who had finally fallen asleep under the effects of the painkillers.
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They thought she was a weak, unstable old woman with no one to protect her.
They were about to find out exactly who they had messed with.
