Chapter 8 - The Attorney’s Gambit
The doorbell chimed a second time, echoing insistently through the darkened, tense atmosphere of the Thornton household.
“Let him ring,” Detective Miller muttered, keeping her hand steady near her firearm while assessing the visitor on the driveway camera feed.
“If we ignore him, he’ll just call local backup or a judge to force entry,” David said, rubbing his temples to stave off a mounting migraine.
“Let him in, Detective,” Clara whispered from the floor, her voice shaking as she wiped her tear-stained cheeks. “He’s the one who threatened me.”
David snapped his head down toward Clara. “What did you just say? When did he threaten you?”
“Two weeks ago, in the park,” Clara confessed, her words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “He told me if I ever spoke about Elena’s temper, my brother would pay the price.”
Detective Miller’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “Attorney-client privilege does not protect an officer of the court who engages in active witness intimidation and extortion.”
“Then let’s prove it,” David said, a cold, hard resolve finally replacing the shock and grief that had paralyzed him all evening.
David walked swiftly to the smart-home control panel, tapping the interface to unlock the heavy front door remotely.
“Miller, stay out of sight in the hallway until I signal you,” David instructed quietly, positioning himself directly in front of the living room archway.
The front door clicked open with a soft pneumatic hiss, and the sound of polished leather shoes clicking against the foyer tiles filled the quiet house.
Attorney Richard Vance—no relation to Clara, though the shared surname hung heavy in the air—stepped into the dim light of the hallway.
He adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses, his expression completely calm and devoid of any surprise at the chaotic state of the home.
“Good evening, Mr. Thornton. I trust my client has already been released into your custody?” Richard asked smoothly, his voice dripping with false professional warmth.
“Your client is currently sitting in the back of a police cruiser facing felony child abuse charges,” David replied, his voice deadly steady.
Richard sighed lightly, shaking his head as if dealing with an unruly child rather than a devastated father. “A tragic misunderstanding, I assure you.”
“Is extortion a misunderstanding too, counselor?” Detective Miller asked, stepping out from the shadows of the hallway with her badge held high.
Richard didn't even flinch at the sight of the detective; instead, a thin, chilling smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“Detective Miller. I was hoping you’d still be here,” Richard said, calmly setting his leather briefcase down on the entry table.
He popped the brass latches of the briefcase with a crisp double click, reaching inside to pull out a single, thick manila envelope.
“My client signed over her entire share of the estate assets ten minutes ago, provided you drop all criminal charges immediately,” Richard stated, sliding the envelope forward.
David stared at the envelope, then looked straight into the attorney’s cold eyes. “You think I can be bought off after what she did to my daughter?”
“It’s not a bribe, Mr. Thornton,” Richard replied smoothly, taking a step closer. “It’s a non-disclosure agreement. If you pursue this trial, public records will reveal your own complicity.”
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Clara gasped from the living room floor, while David felt the blood rush out of his face as the attorney’s ominous threat hung in the air.
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