My stepfather hurt my twin sister and me every day, then smiled whenever we begged him to stop. One night, our mother brought us into the ER and calmly said, “They fell down the stairs.” The doctor studied the matching bruises on our bodies, locked the door, and told security, “Call 911. Now.” My stepfather was still smiling. He had no idea I’d been recording him for three months.

The preliminary bail hearing took place thirty-six hours later at the Cook County District Courthouse.

Because Chloe and I were still recovering from our injuries, Detective Lin arranged for us to watch the proceedings via a closed-circuit video feed from a private conference room inside the hospital.

The video screen showed a grand, mahogany-paneled courtroom.

Judge Thomas Vance sat at the bench, a stern, sharp-eyed man in his early sixties.

Edric Kaine stood at the defense table, wearing a crisp, dark blue jail jumpsuit instead of his usual tailored suits. His hair was messy, his jaw unshaven, and his hands were cuffed at his waist. Beside him stood Arthur Pendelton, one of the most expensive defense attorneys in the state.

“Your Honor,” Pendelton began, leaning heavily against the podium, his voice deep and practiced. “My client is a respected business owner, a pillar of the community, and a grieving stepfather who has been subjected to an outrageous, media-driven character assassination. The allegations made by his stepdaughters are the product of emotional instability following the tragic loss of their father.”

Judge Vance didn't look impressed. He flipped through the thick stack of documents sitting on his desk.

“Mr. Pendelton,” Judge Vance interrupted dryly. “Are you referring to the 'emotional instability' that resulted in matching severe contusions, fractured ribs, and soft-tissue trauma on both seventeen-year-old girls?”

“The defense contends that the injuries were sustained in an accidental fall down the stairs, Your Honor,” Pendelton insisted smoothly. “Furthermore, the audio recordings obtained by the prosecution were secured illegally, violating my client’s right to privacy within his own residence.”

The assistant district attorney, a sharp woman named Marcus, stood up from the prosecution table.

“Your Honor,” DA Marcus spoke up loudly, her voice ringing clearly through the courtroom speakers. “We have submitted three distinct items into evidence today. First, the forensic digital logs confirming that Edric Kaine systematically altered the Morgan Trust accounts. Second, the preliminary toxicology report from the state medical examiner regarding David Morgan’s exhumed remains, which confirmed lethal levels of digitalis in his system.”

Pendelton shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“And third,” DA Marcus continued, holding up a small tablet computer, “we have the audio recording from the night of September 8th. With the court’s permission, I would like to play thirty seconds of File 082, recorded at 11:14 p.m.”

Edric’s head snapped toward the prosecutor. “Your Honor, object!”

“Overruled,” Judge Vance said cold and fast. “Play the audio.”

DA Marcus tapped the screen.

The courtroom speakers filled with static for two seconds. Then, a voice echoed through the room—cold, deliberate, chillingly calm.

“Which one first?”

Then came Chloe’s voice, small and terrified: “Please.”

Then Edric’s laugh: “He liked that word. I didn't give it to him anymore... Still acting brave, Faye?”

My voice answered: “No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Remembering.”

The sound of a heavy physical blow echoed through the speakers, followed instantly by Chloe’s sharp scream and the sound of a body hitting the hardwood floor.

In the hospital conference room, Brenda squeezed my hand so tightly her nails bit into my skin. I didn't pull away.

In the courtroom, total silence fell over the gallery.

Two news reporters near the back row began typing furiously on their laptops. Judge Vance slowly removed his reading glasses, staring down from the bench at Edric Kaine with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust.

“Mr. Pendelton,” Judge Vance said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy tone. “Do you have any further arguments regarding your client’s character?”

Pendelton looked at Edric, then slowly lowered his papers. “No, Your Honor.”

“Edric Kaine,” Judge Vance declared, slamming his wooden gavel down with a sharp, echoing crack. “Bail is denied. You will remain in custody at the Cook County Department of Corrections pending trial.”

On the screen, Edric looked directly at the video camera mounted on the wall—the camera he knew Chloe and I were watching through.