Chapter 7
The local police precinct was brightly lit and buzzing with the late-night shift when Winston walked through the double glass doors. He moved with the undeniable air of a powerful figure, his tailored dark trousers and heavy charcoal coat commanding immediate respect. Flanked by Marcus and two sharply dressed corporate lawyers, Winston looked less like a suspect turning himself in and more like a king inspecting his domain.
In the holding area, Eleanor and Preston sat wrapped in cheap, scratchy police blankets. Eleanor’s luxurious velvet dress was ruined, stained with wine and melted snow. Her hair was a tangled mess, and the dark bruise on her cheek from Winston's slap was incredibly prominent against her fair skin.
When she saw Winston enter, she shot out of her plastic chair, pointing a trembling finger at him.
"Arrest him!" Eleanor shrieked at the desk sergeant. "That's him! He broke into my house, assaulted me, and stole my stepson! Put him in cuffs!"
Preston remained seated, shivering violently, his eyes darting nervously between the officers and his imposing father-in-law.
A weary-looking detective with a thick mustache walked out from the back offices. He looked at Winston, then at the screaming woman in the blanket.
"Mr. Hayes, I presume?" the detective asked, approaching Winston. "I'm Detective Miller. We've got some very serious allegations against you tonight. Kidnapping, home invasion, assault."
"Detective," Winston said, his voice a calm, rich baritone that instantly dominated the chaotic room. "I am here to clear up a massive misunderstanding. The only crime committed tonight was the attempted murder of my three-year-old grandson."
Eleanor laughed, a hysterical, grating sound. "He's lying! He's a rich thug trying to buy his way out of kidnapping!"
Winston ignored her entirely. He extended his hand, and Marcus placed the encrypted digital tablet into his palm. Winston handed the tablet directly to Detective Miller.
"If you press play on that device, Detective," Winston explained with icy authority, "you will see high-definition security footage from the exterior of my estate. You will watch that woman drag a barefoot toddler out into a blizzard. You will watch her lock the deadbolt. And you will watch her husband, sitting in his office, ignoring the boy's pleas for nine hours."
Preston buried his face in his hands, letting out a pathetic, muffled sob. "I'm sorry! I was scared of her!"
Eleanor spun around, her eyes wide with betrayal. "Preston, shut up! Don't say another word!"
Detective Miller looked at the tablet, then tapped the screen. The precinct fell silent as the audio from the video began to play. Trey's small, terrified voice echoed from the tiny speakers, begging his father to open the door over the howling wind.
The detective's face hardened. He watched the screen for a full minute before looking up. The weariness in his eyes was replaced by pure, absolute disgust.
He handed the tablet back to Winston, then turned to the uniform officers standing nearby.
"Officer," Miller barked. "Read Mr. and Mrs. Hayes their rights."
"What?" Eleanor gasped, stumbling backward as two officers approached with handcuffs. "No! You can't arrest me! I am the victim here! He hit me!"
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"You're being charged with attempted murder, felony child endangerment, and criminal neglect," Detective Miller said, his voice dripping with venom. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back."
Eleanor fought, screaming and kicking, her stiletto heels skidding on the linoleum floor until she was wrestled against the wall and cuffed. Preston didn't fight. He stood up slowly, tears streaming down his rosy cheeks, and offered his wrists to the officer, a broken, cowardly shell of a man.
