Chapter 2 - THE URGENT CARE REPORT
I drove William home only after the paramedics examined Cody.
I did not leave the scene like someone fleeing.
Cody had a bruised shoulder, a cut on his elbow, and possible wrist pain.
Drew took him to urgent care.
No loss of consciousness.
No apparent neck injury.
That relieved me.
It did not excuse me.
Officer Leah Morgan arrived after one of the guests called police.
I gave my statement before leaving.
“Did you kick the table intentionally?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Cody was standing on it?”
“Yes.”
“Were you trying to make him fall?”
“I wanted him off the cake.”
“That isn’t the same question.”
I swallowed.
“I knew he could fall.”
She wrote that down.
No heroic version.
No claim that I had protected William from an immediate physical attack.
Cody had humiliated him.
I retaliated physically.
Drew gave police her video.
Conveniently, she offered only a clip beginning seven seconds before I kicked the table.
Officer Morgan asked for the full recording.
Drew said she had deleted earlier footage because it was “boring party material.”
I remembered the twenty-three-minute timer.
I said so.
Officer Morgan documented it.
Deleting your own party footage was not automatically evidence tampering.
Not yet.
At home, William would not eat the replacement cupcake I bought on the drive.
“Can Cody jump on this one too?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Will you kick him again?”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was wrong to make the table fall while he was standing on it.”
“But he ruined my cake.”
“Yes.”
“Then he was wrong too.”
“Yes.”
He thought about that.
“Both wrong?”
“Both wrong.”
Children understand categories adults spend fortunes trying to blur.
The next morning, Cody’s doctor confirmed a sprained wrist and bruising.
No fracture.
Drew demanded criminal charges.
The prosecutor began review.
I hired attorney Maya Lawson.
Her first question:
“Why did you tell Drew she’d regret it?”
“Because I knew something was happening the next morning.”
“What?”
“A company meeting.”
“What company?”
“Howerin Family Hospitality.”
Maya looked up.
That name meant something to her.
My late husband, Andrew Barrymore, had worked for Howerin for twelve years.
Drew was his older half-sister.
Cody was her son.
Andrew died eighteen months earlier after a cerebral aneurysm.
Sudden.
Natural.
Nothing mysterious.
Afterward, Drew’s family told me his small company interest reverted to them.
I believed them.
Tomorrow’s meeting supposedly concerned closing his remaining employee account.
“Why are you invited?”
“Drew said they need my signature.”
Maya stopped writing.
“On what?”
“I haven’t seen it.”
“Then do not sign anything.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
Her expression changed.
“What?”
“Did Andrew ever mention a trust for William?”
“No.”
“Voting shares?”
“No.”
“An insurance-backed buy-sell agreement?”
“No.”
Maya leaned back.
“Then someone has kept you unusually uninformed.”
My phone vibrated.
A text from Drew.
YOU HUMILIATED MY CHILD IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. TOMORROW WE END THIS.
Below it was a photograph.
May you like
The ruined birthday cake.
And in the corner of the picture, almost hidden beneath frosting, lay a blue folder I had never seen before.
