Chapter 5: What They Use Against You
I stood in the hallway and didn't say anything for three full seconds.
"How did you get this number?" I asked.
"Renata has your personnel file," Diane Pratt said.
"As I'm sure you're aware.
Now — I'd like to have a conversation before either of us does something we regret.
Are you somewhere private?"
I looked down the hall toward the nursery.
Roy was at his post, arms folded, facing the door.
Grant's study light was still on.
"Say what you need to say," I told her.
"My client is prepared to be reasonable," Diane said.
"She understands tonight was emotional.
She's willing to attribute your behavior to stress — the pressure of your personal situation, your mother's condition — and she's willing to let the matter drop entirely.
No @ssault charges.
No civil suit.
No report to future employers."
"In exchange for what?"
"A signed statement confirming that what occurred tonight was a misunderstanding.
That you entered the bathroom in a state of distress, misread the situation, and acted impulsively.
That Miss Cole was engaged in routine grooming and that Lily was not in any danger."
The hallway felt very cold.
"You want me to say I was wrong about what I saw."
"I want you to consider what you stand to lose," Diane said pleasantly.
"Your employment.
Your references.
Your mother's insurance coverage.
And I want you to consider that a seven-year-old child who hasn't spoken in two years is not going to be a reliable witness in any proceeding.
Whatever she communicated tonight — a gesture, a look — that's not evidence.
That's a grieving child who is easily influenced."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"You have until nine o'clock tomorrow morning," Diane said.
"After that, my client files the @ssault complaint and we move forward.
I'd encourage you to think carefully, Emma.
You seem like a practical woman."
The line went d*ad.
I stood there for a moment.
Then I walked back to Grant's study and knocked.
"Come in."
He was still at the desk.
He looked up when he saw my face.
"Renata's attorney just called me," I said.
"On my personal cell.
She wants a signed statement saying I misread the situation.
In exchange for dropping the @ssault complaint."
Grant was very still.
"She said Lily won't be a reliable witness.
She said a gesture isn't evidence." I set my phone on the desk between us.
"She gave me until nine tomorrow morning."
Grant looked at the phone.
Then he picked up his own and dialed.
"Daniel," he said, when it connected.
"Renata's attorney contacted my employee directly.
Tonight.
On her personal number." A pause.
"Yes.
I want that documented.
And I want to know who authorized access to the personnel files." Another pause.
"No.
Nine o'clock is their deadline.
I want to move before eight."
He hung up and looked at me.
"She's trying to frighten you," he said.
"It's working," I said honestly.
Something shifted in his expression — not pity, something more careful than that.
"The security footage is already with my attorney.
Dr.
Harmon's report goes to the family advocate tonight.
Renata's attorney can file whatever she likes.
It won't change what the camera recorded."
"She'll say the footage is out of context."
"She can try." He leaned back.
"Emma, I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.
In the six months you've been here — before tonight — did you ever see anything that concerned you?
Anything you dismissed, or talked yourself out of?"
The question landed somewhere uncomfortable.
"Once," I said.
"About two months ago.
I came into the kitchen and Lily was sitting at the table.
Renata was behind her.
She had her hands on Lily's shoulders." I stopped.
"The way Lily was sitting — she was very still.
Not relaxed still.
Held still.
But when I came in, Renata just said she was helping Lily with her posture.
And I—" I stopped again.
"You believed her," Grant said.
"I told myself it was nothing." I looked at my hands.
"I needed the job."
"Yes," Grant said quietly.
"We both made that calculation, didn't we."
The silence between us wasn't comfortable.
But it was honest.
"Write down that memory too," he said.
"Date, time, what you observed.
Everything."
I nodded and stood to go.
"And Emma." His voice stopped me at the door.
"Don't answer if that number calls again.
Send it directly to Daniel."
I went back to the nursery.
Lily was still asleep, the storybook still open across her lap.
I sat down beside her and took out my phone and opened a blank document and started writing.
I wrote for two hours.
Every detail I could remember — not just from tonight, but from six months of small things I had seen and set aside and told myself were nothing.
By the time I finished, it was past midnight.
My hand ached.
The document was four pages long.
I looked at Lily sleeping and thought about Renata's attorney's voice on the phone — smooth and certain and utterly unbothered.
*A seven-year-old child who hasn't spoken in two years is not going to be a reliable witness.*
I looked at the burned patch in Lily's hair.
At the faint yellow bruise on her forearm that Dr.
Harmon had photographed and documented.
And I thought: you don't know this child.
Then my phone lit up on the cushion beside me.
Not a call.
A text.
May you like
Unknown number again, different from the attorney's.
Three words: *Back off, Emma.*
