Chapter 1 - PRESERVE EVERYTHING
The ambulance doors closed between me and the house where I had grown up.
Wyatt climbed inside before the paramedic could stop him.
His white shirt was torn near the shoulder from struggling with my father in the rose bushes. Blood covered both his hands, but none of it belonged to him.
“Sadie, I’m here.”
I could hear him.
I could not feel the left side of my face.
Every vibration from the road moved through my skull like another impact. A paramedic placed gauze above my eyebrow and asked me to follow his finger with my right eye.
My left eye would not open.
“What happened?” he asked.
“My father hit me with a brick.”
Wyatt gripped the side rail.
The paramedic looked at him.
“Did you witness it?”
“Yes.”
“Were there other witnesses?”
“The utility worker. Her family.”
“My mother and sister will lie,” I whispered.
Speaking pulled at something beneath my cheek.
The paramedic leaned closer.
“Save your energy.”
“No.”
I caught his sleeve.
“Write down exactly what I said.”
He nodded.
“My father, Gregory Davis, struck me. My mother, Brenda Davis, laughed. My sister, Melanie, knew it was going to happen.”
The paramedic repeated the statement while entering it into his tablet.
At Ohio State University Hospital, trauma staff moved quickly.
CT scans.
Eye examination.
Facial imaging.
Pain medication.
A surgeon explained that I had fractures around my left eye, cheekbone, and upper jaw. My vision might recover fully, but swelling made immediate predictions difficult.
A plastic surgeon would repair the deepest laceration after ophthalmology cleared me.
“Do you feel safe returning home?” a nurse asked.
“I don’t live with them.”
“Do they have access to your home?”
“My parents have an old key. I don’t know whether Melanie copied it.”
The nurse’s name was Karen Mills.
She had calm hands and the direct voice of someone who had learned not to soften important questions.
“Would you like law enforcement contacted?”
“They’re already involved.”
“Would you like an advocate?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
I thought about the light blue dress.
The blood.
The brick splitting when it struck me.
My father’s shoe crushing Wyatt’s phone.
My mother’s laughter.
“Preserve everything.”
Karen stopped writing.
“My clothing. The fragments in my hair. Photographs before anyone cleans my face. Blood samples if they’re relevant. Every medical image. Everything.”
“You’re requesting forensic documentation?”
“Yes.”
“You understand this may be used in a criminal proceeding?”
“I hope it is.”
She nodded once.
“I’ll contact the forensic nurse.”
Wyatt bent over my hand.
“I should have stopped him.”
“You couldn’t know.”
“I saw him reach toward the flower bed.”
“Then tell the police.”
He looked sick.
“I pushed him.”
“He kicked your phone away while you were calling 911.”
“I still put my hands on him.”
“To stop him.”
“What if they arrest me?”
My right eye focused on him.
“My family is counting on you being afraid of that.”
Detective Helen Brooks arrived while the forensic nurse photographed the injuries.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she said my parents had given a different account.
Of course they had.
According to Gregory, Wyatt had arrived enraged, demanded money, and attacked him after being told Melanie would expose “financial secrets” about our relationship.
According to Brenda, I stepped between the men, tripped over a loose brick, and struck my face on the porch.
According to Melanie, Wyatt had threatened to destroy the whole family if she revealed he had secretly pursued her.
I stared at the detective.
“Wyatt blocked her six months ago.”
“We’ll examine the communications.”
“My father held the brick.”
“They say he picked it up after you fell.”
“The electrician saw him drop it.”
“We’re speaking with him.”
Detective Brooks glanced toward the sealed evidence bag containing my dress.
“Your mother also says you have a history of jealousy toward Melanie.”
I almost laughed, but the movement sent pain through my face.
“What does jealousy have to do with a brick?”
“Nothing. I’m telling you what they’re saying because you need to understand the direction of their defense.”
Wyatt stood near the window with both fists clenched.
“What about the elderly man?” I asked.
“Which man?”
“He was behind the living-room curtain.”
My father had not mentioned him.
Neither had my mother.
Detective Brooks wrote another note.
“Can you describe him?”
“Late seventies, maybe eighties. Gray hair. Thin. Dark cardigan. I had never seen him before.”
“Did he witness the assault?”
“I don’t know. He was looking through the window when the ambulance left.”
The detective left the room to make a call.
She returned ten minutes later with a different expression.
“Officers found no elderly man inside.”
“Then where did he go?”
“Your parents claim nobody else was there.”
Wyatt turned.
“They’re lying.”
Detective Brooks looked at him.
“We already know that part of their account is questionable.”
“Why?”
“The utility worker’s emergency call recorded a woman laughing in the background.”
I closed my eye.
My mother’s words replayed inside me.
Let’s see if Wyatt still loves you with that face.
The detective continued.
“The caller also reported seeing Gregory Davis holding a broken brick before Mr. Campbell reached him.”
Wyatt moved to my bedside.
“That proves it.”
“It proves we need to investigate further.”
A police officer appeared at the door.
He whispered something to Detective Brooks and handed her a clear evidence pouch.
Inside was an old-fashioned silver fountain pen.
It had been found beneath the porch swing.
Engraved on its side were the words:
ELIAS HART, ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Detective Brooks turned toward me.
“Do you recognize that name?”
“No.”
Wyatt did.
His face changed.
“Elias Hart handled probate work for Davis Heritage Masonry.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because my attorneys found his name three weeks ago while reviewing the title to your family’s land.”
The detective looked between us.
“What land?”
May you like
Wyatt sat down.
“The land Sadie’s parents insist she has no ownership interest in.”
