Chapter 6 - David’s Version

By the next morning, David had constructed an entirely different Christmas.

In his version, I had become emotional after a minor disagreement.

Sylvia had tried to steady me.

I had lost my balance.

My phone had been damaged accidentally.

David had suggested driving me to the hospital privately.

And my father had supposedly transformed a domestic misunderstanding into a federal spectacle because of his position.

It was a brilliant story.

Simple.

Clean.

Respectable.

Exactly the kind of story David knew how to tell.

Unfortunately for him, reality had witnesses.

Michael gave investigators the original recording.

Two guests provided statements.

A third admitted that Sylvia had been humiliating me throughout dinner.

The paramedics documented where they found me.

The physician documented the contractions after abdominal trauma.

The broken phone remained evidence.

And David’s own voice was preserved saying there would be no ambulance because he did not want the neighbors to see.

Still, he fought.

That was what David did when control slipped away.

He tightened his grip.

His attorney contacted mine before breakfast.

My father insisted I choose independent counsel rather than use anyone connected to him.

I selected Rebecca Sloan.

She was in her forties, calm, direct, and completely unimpressed by famous surnames.

She entered my hospital room carrying one legal pad.

“Your father told me not to treat you like his daughter.”

I almost smiled.

“That sounds like him.”

“So I won’t.”

She sat.

“I’m treating you like Anna Mercer Cole.”

Hearing all three names together made my skin crawl.

“How quickly can I stop being Cole?”

Rebecca’s eyes sharpened.

“As quickly as the law allows.”

I looked down at my wedding ring.

For months, I had told myself our marriage was under stress.

Pregnancy.

Work.

Family.

I had created a thousand excuses because the truth was harder.

David did not love me in a way that allowed me to remain myself.

He loved possession.

He loved compliance.

He loved being admired.

And when I stopped supplying those things, he punished me.

“I want a divorce.”

Rebecca wrote it down.

“I want temporary protection.”

She wrote again.

“I don’t want him near the baby.”

Her pen stopped.

“We’ll address custody carefully.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

I removed my ring.

My finger looked strangely pale underneath it.

I placed the ring on the bedside table.

Rebecca watched.

“Anything else?”

I thought about Sylvia’s house.

The way she called me a servant.

The way David looked at me on the kitchen floor.

Then I remembered something.

“The security cameras.”

Rebecca looked up.

“What cameras?”

“Sylvia has cameras outside.”

“Exterior only?”

I shook my head.

“She installed one in the kitchen after accusing a housekeeper of stealing silverware.”

Rebecca became very still.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“She complained for months because the camera kept sending alerts whenever someone walked near the pantry.”

Rebecca stood.

“Do not call anyone about that.”

My heartbeat increased.

“Why?”

“Because if that footage exists, we need it preserved before anyone decides it should disappear.”

She stepped into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, investigators were requesting a preservation order.

David had forgotten one thing.

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His mother trusted no one.

And because Sylvia trusted no one, she had recorded everything.