That night, the victory curdled into something sharp and terrifying. Their apartment, a narrow unit in a complex long overdue for repairs, felt smaller than ever as Lydia grilled cheese at the stove, hands shaking despite herself, while Ava sorted her papers like a general reviewing battle plans.
The crash came without warning. Glass exploded inward, scattering across the carpet as a brick skidded to a stop near the couch. Lydia screamed, throwing herself over Ava, heart pounding so violently she thought it might split her ribs.
Wrapped around the brick was a note. UNFIT PARENT. CHILD SERVICES HAS BEEN NOTIFIED. The message was clear. This was no longer about money. It was about control.
The next morning, Child Welfare arrived, clipboard in hand, eyes already judging, citing an anonymous tip about “unsafe conditions,” and it would have gone exactly as Victor Hale intended if not for a man who had been watching from the shadows.
Ethan Cross, investigative journalist, unpaid enemy of the powerful, stepped out of his rusted sedan with evidence that traced the complaint directly back to Hale’s law firm. And that was when the story cracked open.
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