CHAPTER 9
The threatening package changed Vanessa's bail conditions.
Police traced the car to a man named Lucas Trent.
He was Vanessa's cousin.
When detectives found him, he claimed Vanessa paid him five hundred dollars to deliver the box.
Her bail was revoked within forty-eight hours.
For the first time since this began, I slept for more than three hours.
Sophie didn't.
Her nightmares became worse.
One night, I found her standing in the kitchen at two in the morning.
She was eating crackers in the dark.
When she saw me, she froze.
“Sorry.”
I hated that word now.
“You don't have to apologize.”
“I was hungry.”
“Then eat.”
She looked toward the stairs.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
I turned on the small lamp over the stove.
“Want milk?”
She nodded.
We sat together.
Winston waited hopefully beneath the table.
Sophie broke a cracker in half.
“Can he have one?”
“Probably.”
She fed him.
Then she whispered.
“Miss Vanessa didn't like when I ate at night.”
I kept my voice steady.
“What happened if you did?”
“She made me stand.”
“For how long?”
“Until my legs hurt.”
I closed my eyes for one second.
Then opened them.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“You're not mad?”
“I'm mad that it happened.”
“But not at me.”
“Never at you for being hungry.”
She seemed to store that sentence somewhere important.
The next afternoon, Dr. Lee suggested something I hadn't expected.
“Richard, Sophie needs to return to school.”
I stared.
“Now?”
“Routine can help.”
“She was threatened.”
“Security measures can be added.”
“I can keep her home.”
“You can.”
Dr. Lee paused.
“But safety and isolation aren't the same thing.”
That landed.
Vanessa had isolated Sophie in the name of discipline.
I couldn't isolate her in the name of protection.
So we asked Sophie.
“Do I have to?” she said.
“No.”
“Can Aunt Emmy take me?”
“Yes.”
“Can you pick me up?”
The question surprised me.
“Every day if you want.”
“What about work?”
I smiled.
“Work has survived worse.”
On Wednesday, I picked Sophie up from school for the first time in nearly a year.
She came running out carrying a purple backpack.
“Daddy!”
Parents turned.
Some recognized me.
A few phones appeared.
I didn't care.
Sophie jumped into my arms.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
She looked at the line of cars.
“Were you waiting long?”
“Twenty-two minutes.”
She smiled.
“That's a lot.”
“It was.”
We stopped for ice cream.
She chose strawberry.
I chose coffee.
“You always get boring flavors,” she said.
“Coffee is sophisticated.”
“It's brown.”
“That's not an argument.”
She laughed.
Then a woman approached our table.
I recognized her from television.
A reporter.
“Mr. Sterling, can I ask—”
“No.”
“This concerns Ms. Cole's allegations.”
“Not in front of my daughter.”
She looked at Sophie.
That was enough.
I stood.
A security officer moved closer.
The reporter backed away.
Sophie watched me.
“Was she talking about Miss Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
“Do people think she's nice?”
“Some people don't know the truth yet.”
“Will they?”
“I hope so.”
Sophie licked melting ice cream from her spoon.
“What if they don't?”
I stared at her.
Children can ask the questions adults spend years avoiding.
I chose carefully.
“Then we still know.”
She nodded.
Apparently that was enough.
For her.
Maybe it needed to become enough for me too.
The criminal case developed quickly.
Vanessa faced charges for child endangerment, unlawful imprisonment, forgery, fraud, theft, witness intimidation, attempted interference with custody, and violating bail conditions.
The charity fraud alone could send her to prison for years.
But prosecutors warned me.
“Child abuse cases are complicated,” Assistant District Attorney Rachel Kim said.
“Why?”
“Because much of the evidence depends on a child's statements.”
“We have recordings.”
“Some.”
“Medical records.”
“Yes.”
“Emails.”
“Yes.”
She leaned forward.
“I'm preparing you. Vanessa's defense will attack everyone.”
Including Sophie.
My blood ran cold.
“She will not testify in open court.”
“That's not necessarily your decision.”
I stared.
Rachel remained calm.
“We'll seek accommodations. Recorded testimony. Closed courtroom. Whatever protects her.”
“I won't let them destroy her.”
“Then help us make sure she feels no responsibility for the outcome.”
That was difficult.
Because I already wanted justice so badly I could taste it.
That night, I told Sophie there might be questions later.
She looked afraid.
“What if I say something wrong?”
“There is no wrong.”
“What if I forget?”
“Then you say you forgot.”
“What if I don't know?”
“You say you don't know.”
“What if Miss Vanessa says I'm lying?”
My throat tightened.
“Then you tell the truth anyway.”
She considered it.
“Will you be there?”
“As close as they let me.”
She smiled weakly.
“Can Buttons come?”
“Buttons is clearly essential legal counsel.”
She laughed.
The next morning, Rebecca returned with her recommendation.
I stood in the study while she opened the report.
My hands were sweating.
“Sophie will remain in your home.”
I exhaled so hard I nearly lost my balance.
“With conditions.”
“Anything.”
“Continued therapy.”
“Yes.”
“Family support.”
“Yes.”
“Reduced work travel.”
“Already done.”
“Regular CPS follow-up for six months.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“And you need therapy too.”
I almost objected.
Old Richard would have.
Instead, I nodded.
“Okay.”
She seemed surprised.
“That's it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Most fathers in your position argue.”
“I've argued enough with reality.”
Rebecca closed the report.
“Sophie wants to be here.”
My eyes burned.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly?”
Rebecca hesitated.
Then smiled.
“She said, ‘My daddy finally knows where home is.’”
I looked away.
I had owned seven properties.
A Manhattan penthouse.
A house in Aspen.
A place in London.
May you like
A yacht I had spent eleven days aboard in five years.
And my six-year-old daughter had just taught me what home meant.
