Chapter 3: The Video
Chapter 3: The Video
The next morning, the Chicago sun felt too bright.
I sat in the sleek downtown office of Marcus Vance. Marcus wasn't a family friend. He wasn't a polite, country-club lawyer. He was a former federal prosecutor who had built a private practice tearing apart arrogant, wealthy men.
He sat behind his massive mahogany desk, staring at his laptop screen.
The police had released a copy of the hotel security footage to him. We were watching it together.
The video was silent, but the clarity was devastating.
It showed the crowded ballroom. It showed Preston, looking around shiftily, walking past our table. It showed him slipping the silver iPhone into Sophie’s little denim jacket.
Then it showed the confrontation.
It showed my brother grabbing the heavy oak sign.
It showed him swinging it down with brutal force.
Marcus paused the video exactly at the moment of impact. The screen froze on Preston’s face. The sheer malice in his eyes was undeniable.
“This isn't just assault, Evelyn,” Marcus said quietly. “This is aggravated assault on a minor with a deadly weapon. It’s a felony.”
“My parents are trying to spin it,” I told him, wrapping my hands around a warm cup of coffee to stop them from shaking. “They’re telling everyone she tripped. They want me to drop the charges.”
Marcus leaned back in his leather chair. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
“The State of Illinois brings the charges in a criminal case, not you. Even if you wanted to drop them, the District Attorney won't let this go. Not with this footage.”
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“He got out on bail this morning,” I said.
“Of course he did. Your father has deep pockets,” Marcus replied. “But bail just means he gets to sleep in his own bed until the trial. We’re going to file a civil suit. We’re going to get a permanent restraining order. And we are going to bury him.”
