Chapter 4 - Shadows of the House
"Get out of the way, Mr. Hayes," Miller commanded, pushing past him as two officers grabbed Scott's arms.
"This is unlawful entry! You don't have a warrant!" Scott yelled, struggling against the cuffs that were instantly slapped around his wrists. "Clara, you've lost your mind! She's sick, officer! She's been seeing a psychiatrist, she's hallucinating!"
I ignored his desperate lies and ran past him, taking the stairs two at a time. "Emily! Emily, baby!"
I threw open the bathroom door. The vanity had been pushed back into place, looking entirely ordinary. But I didn't care about the furniture anymore. I ran straight into Emily’s bedroom.
She was curled under her pink duvet, clutching her stuffed bunny so hard her knuckles were white. Her eyes were wide with terror at the sound of men shouting downstairs.
"Mommy?" she whispered, her voice tiny and broken.
I threw myself onto the bed, pulling her into my arms, burying my face in her soft hair. "I'm here, sweetie. I'm here. You're safe now. Daddy can't hurt you or tell you to play those games ever again."
She sobbed into my shoulder, her little body trembling like a leaf in a storm. "Is Daddy angry with me? Did I do bad?"
"No, my precious girl. You did nothing wrong. You are so brave."
As I held her, Detective Miller walked into the room, followed by forensic technicians carrying heavy black bags. Miller knelt down next to us, offering Emily a reassuring, gentle smile.
"Hi, Emily. My name is Sarah. I'm a friend of your mom's," Miller said softly. "Can you tell me where the camera lives when bath time is over?"
Emily looked at me, her big eyes searching my face for permission. I nodded, holding her hand tightly.
Emily pointed a trembling finger toward the closet. "In the metal box behind the winter coats. Daddy locks it with the little key on his neck."
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The technicians moved quickly, opening the closet and pulling out a heavy fireproof safe hidden under a pile of blankets. Scott had built an entire hidden life right under my nose, exploiting our home, our child, and my trust to conduct high-level criminal data theft and illegal surveillance for illicit online syndicates.
As they led Scott out of the house in handcuffs, he looked back at me through the front doorway. His face wasn't filled with rage anymore; it was cold, calculating, and full of a quiet promise that this wasn't over.
