Chapter 2 - Cold Light of Truth
""Liam Mitchell?"" one of the men called out, cutting through the heavy murmurs of the crowd. He held a leather folder open to reveal an investigator's credentials from the State Child Protective Services, flanked by a uniformed police officer. ""We received an urgent distress call twenty minutes ago regarding an endangered minor at this address. We need you to step aside.""
The room collectively gasped. Vanessa’s mother, seated at table one, leaped to her feet with a sharp screech, demanding to know the meaning of this intrusion on her daughter's special day. But Liam was paralyzed. He slowly rose to his feet, shielding Maisie and Clara with his broad frame. ""I'm her father. There's been a misunderstanding. She was found just now, under the table—""
""It wasn't a misunderstanding,"" Clara interrupted, her clear, resonant voice cutting through the panic like a blade. She didn't flinch before the authorities. Instead, she reached into the small beaded clutch hanging from her wrist and pulled out a silver flash drive. ""I am the one who called emergency services. And I called them because this wasn't an isolated incident. This wasn't an impatient bride losing her temper for five minutes.""
Vanessa lunged forward, her hands clawing desperately at the air between them. ""Clara, shut up! Don't you dare do this here! This is my wedding!"" Her veil tore slightly against the floral centerpiece as she stumbled, revealing the frantic, ugly desperation beneath her polished veneer. ""Liam, she's trying to ruin us! She's been jealous of me since the day you introduced us!""
Liam turned his gaze back to Vanessa. His eyes were completely hollow, stripped of every ounce of love, warmth, and trust that had built their relationship over the past year. ""Why would she call CPS, Vanessa? What did you do?""
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""Ask her what she did three weeks ago at the lake house, Liam,"" Clara said coldly, handing the silver drive straight to the detective, who took it with a grim nod. ""Ask her why Maisie has bruises that keep getting blamed on clumsy playground falls. And ask her why her personal assistant was paid fifty thousand dollars from your joint account yesterday morning.""
Vanessa froze mid-step. The color drained from her skin until she looked like a marble statue destined to crumble. The detective glanced down at the drive, then up at Vanessa with eyes as cold as slate. ""Mrs. Mitchell—or rather, Ms. Vance—we have a warrant to seize your personal phone and vehicle immediately.""
