Chapter 10: The Legal Reality Sets In
The office of family attorney Marcus Vance—no relation, thankfully—smelled of old leather, polished mahogany, and expensive espresso. The room was quiet, insulated from the bustling city traffic outside by thick double-paned glass windows. Arthur sat across the sleek oak desk, holding a thick manila folder containing the digital archives he had managed to download from Sarah’s streaming dashboard before wiping the hardware clean. Attorney Vance, a sharp-eyed man in his late fifties with silver-rimmed glasses, carefully turned the pages of printed chat logs and financial deposit slips, his expression growing grimmer with every passing second. "Mr. Vance," the lawyer said slowly, looking up over his glasses. "This is not merely a case of marital dissolution or standard child custody dispute. What your wife has engaged in crosses the legal threshold into severe child exploitation, digital endangerment, and statutory neglect. The financial records show over forty thousand dollars funneled into private accounts from these late-night broadcasts over the last six months alone." Arthur rubbed his temples, feeling a dull ache behind his eyes. "Can she lose custody?" "Given the evidence you've provided—the live-stream footage, the timestamps of the child's labor, and the clear psychological impact on Lily—I would say the court will view her actions as a profound breach of the parental fiduciary duty," Vance stated firmly, sliding a document across the table. "I have already drafted an emergency temporary restraining order and a petition for sole physical custody, alongside a mandatory psychological evaluation for Mrs. Vance. If we file this immediately, a judge will sign off on it by afternoon." Arthur looked down at the formal legal papers, their cold, clinical language starkly contrasting with the raw emotional trauma his family had endured. He thought of Lily sitting in her classroom right now, drawing dragons instead of scrubbing floors, and a wave of fierce protective instinct washed away his hesitation. He picked up the heavy fountain pen resting on the desk, uncapped it with a steady hand, and signed his name at the bottom of the page. There was no turning back now. The protective wall he had built around his career and his comfortable suburban routine had been torn down, and in its place, he was building a real, unbreakable shield around his daughter.
