Chapter 3 - The Bruise on the Screen
Forty-five minutes later, a sleek black SUV pulled up beside my sedan.
Lucia Santos stepped out into the rain, wearing a long trench coat, her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She didn't say a word; she walked straight to my driver's side door, opened it, and pulled me into a fierce, suffocating embrace.
"I've got you," Lucia whispered into my damp hair. "I've got you, Vero. It's over."
She moved Sofía and our suitcase into the back seat of her SUV, wrapped my daughter in a warm wool blanket she had brought from her house, and handed her a juice box.
Within twenty minutes, we were sitting in the brightly lit living room of Lucia's high-rise apartment downtown.
While Sofía fell asleep on the plush velvet sofa under the warmth of the blanket, Lucia knelt beside her with a camera, taking high-resolution photographs of the angry red welt running along Sofía's forearm.
"This is classic blunt force trauma from a thick leather strap," Lucia noted, her professional tone sharp as a razor as she adjusted the lighting. "Look at the edge definition. The buckle end caught her near the wrist."
"She's six, Lucia," I choked out, sitting on the rug with a cup of hot tea between my hands. "It was her birthday. I baked a cake..."
"Listen to me very carefully, Verónica," Lucia said, setting her camera down and grabbing my hands. "Tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM, we are going to the pediatric emergency room at Cook County General. We need a formal medical evaluation and an official forensic abuse report filed by a certified child physician."
"Diego threatened to sue for full custody," I whispered, panic rising again. "He said he took the money to build a legal trust. His mother signed an affidavit claiming I'm an unfit mother who threw a glass at her."
Lucia chuckled—a dark, dangerous sound. "Diego is a corporate contract associate at a mid-tier firm, Vero. He thinks because he knows how to read tax codes, he understands criminal law and family court."
She pulled out a yellow legal pad and a pen.
"First," Lucia said, tapping the pad, "we file an Emergency Protection Order against both Diego and Teresa. Second, we file a criminal complaint for felony child endangerment and domestic battery against Teresa. Third, we file an emergency petition in family court for temporary sole legal and physical custody, accompanied by an order for immediate freeze and recovery of marital assets."
"Can he really keep the forty-two thousand dollars?" I asked.
"Moving joint funds into a secret trust four hours before an assault report is called 'fraudulent transfer of marital property' and 'spoliation of assets'," Lucia grinned fiercely. "The family judge is going to drag Diego over broken glass for that. He just handed us the entire divorce on a silver platter."
Lucia's phone suddenly buzzed on the coffee table.
The caller ID displayed: Diego.
Lucia picked up the phone, swiped the screen, and set it on speaker.
"Verónica!" Diego's furious voice echoed through the room. "Where the hell are you?! You took my daughter out of her home in the middle of the night! If you aren't back in this house in thirty minutes, I am calling the police and reporting a parental kidnapping!"
Lucia leaned down toward the phone.
"Hello, Diego," Lucia said smoothly.
There was a sudden, stunned pause on the other end. "Who the hell is this?"
"This is Lucia Santos. Primary litigation partner at Santos, Vance & Cole," Lucia stated crisply. "And as of twenty minutes ago, I am official legal counsel for your wife, Verónica."
"Lucia?" Diego spat, trying to sound dismissive. "Stay out of this. This is a private family matter between my wife and me."
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"It ceased to be a private family matter," Lucia responded, her voice dropping an octave into pure ice, "the moment your mother put a belt on a six-year-old child and you committed grand larceny by wiping out marital bank accounts. Do not call this number again, Diego. All future communication will go through my office or the state prosecutor's desk. Have a wonderful night."
Lucia hung up before he could respond, turning off the phone entirely.
