Chapter 3 - The Paperwork Trail
Three weeks later.
The Vance family home—a grand, four-bedroom colonial house in the affluent suburbs of Chicago—was usually the site of cheerful Sunday family dinners. But on this freezing December afternoon, the atmosphere inside the living room felt like a courtroom before a execution.
I sat in a comfortable, heated recliner in the center of the room, my legs elevated under a warm fleece blanket. Alejandro sat on the armrest beside me, his arm wrapped firmly around my shoulders, guarding me like a hawk.
Across from us sat Mateo and Carmen. Carmen looked ten years older; her eyes were red-rimmed, and she clutched a handkerchief in her trembling hands.
Sitting on the far side of the room, accompanied by her high-priced corporate defense attorney, Arthur Pendelton, was Paola. She was pale, wearing a muted beige sweater, no makeup, and her hands were folded tightly in her lap.
Standing near the fireplace was Detective Marcus Vance (no relation), an investigator from the Cook County State's Attorney's Office.
"Thank you all for meeting," Detective Vance began, pulling a thick Manila folder from his leather briefcase. "As you know, the formal investigation into the events of November 24th has concluded. We have gathered the medical forensic reports from Saint Jude’s Hospital, the environmental weather logs from that evening, and the physical evidence from the apartment."
Attorney Pendelton cleared his throat loudly, leaning forward. "Detective, as I’ve maintained on behalf of my client, Miss Vance, this was a tragic domestic accident. A family pranking incident that went awry due to an unforeseen medical anomaly—"
"Save it, Arthur," Detective Vance interrupted flatly, pulling out a set of color photographs and laying them on the coffee table. "We pulled the internal security camera footage from the hallway of the apartment building, as well as the audio logs from the smart-home hub inside the kitchen."
Paola’s head snapped up. Her face turned an instant, horrifying shade of chalk-white.
"Smart-home hub...?" she whispered.
"Alejandro’s apartment is equipped with an integrated Amazon Echo system," Detective Vance explained, looking directly at Paola. "It records ambient audio when triggered, and it archives background noise during high-volume events. We recovered sixteen minutes of crystal-clear audio from the kitchen while Mrs. Elena Vance was trapped on the balcony."
Carmen gasped, covering her mouth.
Detective Vance opened his tablet and tapped the screen.
The room filled with the stark, terrifying sound of the audio recording.
First came the sound of the balcony door slamming shut, followed by the clear, metallic click of the manual deadbolt being engaged.
Then came my voice, muffled through the glass: "Paola! Open the door! It’s freezing out here!"
Then came Paola’s voice, crisp, clear, and dripping with venomous amusement: "Maybe a little suffering will make you stronger. You’ll survive."
The recording continued. The sound of me pounding frantically on the glass echoed through the living room. Over the top of my screaming, the audio picked up Paola walking over to the smart speaker, humming to herself, and saying: "Alexa, play holiday jazz at fifty percent volume."
Then came my ragged, blood-curdling scream of agony as the placental abruption struck, followed by the sound of my heavy fall against the balcony floor.
The recording picked up Carmen asking from the dining room: "Paola, what was that noise?"
And Paola’s calm, effortless reply: "Oh, nothing, Mom. Just Elena being dramatic outside. Leave her alone, she’s throwing a tantrum because I told her the gravy was salty."
The audio cut off.
The silence that followed was suffocating. It felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
Carmen turned her head slowly toward her daughter. Tears streamed down her face, but her eyes held a look of pure, unadulterated horror.
"You... you heard her screaming..." Carmen whispered, her voice shaking with a mother’s broken heart. "You heard her screaming in pain... and you turned up the music?"
"Mom... Mom, listen to me—" Paola begged, reaching out, her voice cracking into panicked sobs.
"Do not touch me!" Carmen shrieked, slapping Paola’s hand away. "You monster! You cold-blooded, evil monster! She was carrying your brother’s child! She was carrying my grandson!"
"Detective Vance," Alejandro said, his voice flat, completely devoid of any warmth. "Is that audio admissible in court?"
"It is," Detective Vance confirmed. "The Grand Jury has officially returned a three-count indictment against Paola Vance. Count One: Felony Aggravated Domestic Battery resulting in great bodily harm. Count Two: Reckless Endangerment of a Unborn Child. Count Three: Unlawful Imprisonment."
Attorney Pendelton looked at his client, shaking his head slowly in defeat. "Paola... there is no jury in this county that will look at this audio and give you probation. You need to prepare yourself for a plea bargain."
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Paola collapsed back into her chair, clutching her head, sobbing hysterically as the full weight of her actions finally crushed her. She wasn't a clever, superior woman teaching an outsider a lesson anymore. She was a criminal, caught on tape, exposed to her family and the law as a malicious, cruel predator.
"The arraignment is scheduled for Tuesday morning," Detective Vance said, packing his papers. "I suggest you be there on time, Miss Vance."
