Chapter 4 - The Playback
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Static crackled through the courtroom speakers, followed by the muffled sound of footsteps on a hardwood floor.
Clara held her breath. She recognized the acoustics immediately. It was the kitchen of their home in the suburbs.
“Are you sure this is going to work, Gabriel?” a woman’s voice asked. It was unmistakably Samantha Drake. Her tone was sharp, impatient, and entirely devoid of empathy.
“I’ve been crushing two pills into her chamomile tea every night for a week,” Gabriel’s recorded voice replied smoothly. “The dosage is low enough that she just thinks it’s normal pregnancy complications. The doctor said her blood pressure is spiking.”
A collective gasp echoed through the gallery. Clara’s knees buckled. Her attorney had to grab her arm to keep her from collapsing to the floor.
“It’s taking too long,” Samantha’s voice complained through the speakers. “If she carries that brat to term, you’re going to be on the hook for eighteen years of child support. And worse, she gets half the business. We need to trigger a miscarriage before the third trimester, Gabe. You promised me.”
“I’m handling it, Sam,” Gabriel’s voice snapped. “The misoprostol was hard to get off the books. Once she loses the baby, she’ll be an emotional wreck. She’s already depressed. I’ll convince her to sign the post-nup in her grief, and then we push her out. She’ll walk away with nothing.”
“And what about the little eavesdropper?” Samantha asked.
“Violet?” Gabriel scoffed. “She’s an idiot just like her dead mother. Once we have Clara’s equity, we ship Violet off to boarding school in Switzerland. I’m not letting a six-year-old ruin our new life.”
The recording clicked off, followed by the terrifying, heavy silence of the courtroom.
Clara stared at the man she had loved for seven years. The man who had held her hand during ultrasounds. The man who had actively, methodically tried to murder their unborn child just to protect his financial assets and fund his life with a mistress.
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He wasn't just a cheater. He was a monster.
Judge Holloway slowly lowered the recording device. Her face was carved from absolute, terrifying stone. She looked down at Gabriel Linwood with a level of disgust that could have frozen boiling water.
