Chapter 1 - The Red Light in the CornerThe heavy steel door of the precinct holding cell clicked shut with a dull, concussive thud that vibrated through my bones.
I sat on the cold stainless-steel bench, my hands still smelling faintly of burnt oil and stale soup, my left cheek throbbed with a dull, burning ache from Callan’s slap. Across the room, through the reinforced glass window of the interrogation suite, my court-appointed public defender sat shuffling through a thin manila folder.
His name was David Vance—a tired, overworked attorney in his late fifties who looked as if he had seen too many lost causes pass through the Maricopa County judicial system.
"Anastasia," David spoke, stepping into the holding room and closing the door behind him. "I've just reviewed the preliminary incident report filed by the Paradise Valley Police Department."
I didn't lift my head from my knees. "What does it say, David?"
David let out a long, heavy sigh, pulling a pair of reading glasses from his coat pocket.
"It reads like an open-and-shut case of aggravated domestic assault using a deadly weapon," David reported flatly. "Your mother-in-law, Melissa Harrington, provided three signed witness statements—including ones from Callan’s sister, Brooklyn, and his uncle, Richard."
He paused, adjusting his glasses to read the highlighted section.
"They claim you suffered an unprovoked emotional breakdown after being asked to help with lunch, threw hot soup at Brooklyn, and then intentionally poured a pan of scorching oil over Callan’s face while he attempted to calm you down."
I slowly lifted my head, my eyes cold, clear, and utterly devoid of tears.
"Callan struck me across the face in front of fifteen people, David," I said, my voice smooth and level. "And Brooklyn intentionally rammed her shoulder into mine to spill the soup."
David looked at me with a mixture of professional pity and tired skepticism. "Anastasia... the Harringtons own three commercial contracting firms and two luxury resorts in Scottsdale. They have six high-priced private attorneys preparing an emergency bail opposition petition right now. Without physical proof, a jury in this county is going to see a wealthy, respected family versus a girl from a Mesa hardware store."
A faint, sharp smile touched my lips.
"David," I asked softly.
"Yes?"
"Who installed the high-definition smart security system inside Melissa Harrington's kitchen three months ago?"
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David frowned, looking down at his file. "The police report doesn't mention a security system. Melissa stated the estate's interior cameras were disabled for routine maintenance."
"They were disabled on the primary wall terminal," I revealed, leaning forward until my face was inches from the glass partition. "They weren't disabled on the secondary cloud server. I know because my father’s hardware company supplied the industrial-grade wireless units, and I set up the encrypted backup feed on my private phone."
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