Chapter 4 - The Statement
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The mahogany-paneled walls of Daniel's private study felt like a prison cell. The two officers stood by the door, while a detective in a cheap suit sat across the desk, scribbling in a notepad.
"Let's go over this again, Mr. Bennett," the detective sighed, looking up. "You claim your wife intentionally pushed your seven-year-old daughter down a flight of marble stairs."
"I don't claim it. I saw it," Daniel stated, fighting to keep his voice level. "I was standing thirty feet away. She put both hands on Lily's shoulders and shoved her."
The detective tapped his pen. "And yet, we have spoken to half a dozen people who were standing closer than you. They all corroborate your wife's story. The girl's cast slipped on the marble, your wife tried to grab her, and missed."
"They were looking at the bottom of the stairs," Daniel argued. "I was looking directly at the top."
"Your wife says you've been under immense stress lately," the detective noted, flipping a page. "She says the pressure of the seventy-fifth-anniversary corporate restructuring has made you erratic. Paranoid. Prone to sudden outbursts."
Daniel’s blood turned to ice. She had been laying the groundwork for this narrative for months. The casual comments to his colleagues about his "long hours." The manufactured arguments she would start right before they left for social events, making him appear agitated in public.
"She is lying," Daniel said quietly.
"Well, she isn't lying about the red mark on her face," the detective countered sharply. "We have fifty witnesses who saw you slap her to the ground. That's domestic battery, Mr. Bennett. Under the circumstances, and considering the child's injuries occurred in your presence during this alleged 'erratic' behavior, child protective services will need to be notified."
Daniel stood up, his chair scraping violently against the wood floor. "You are not taking my daughter."
"Sit down, sir," the officers at the door commanded, placing hands on their weapons.
"I will not press charges for the assault," a voice said from the doorway.
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Vanessa stood there, looking pale and fragile, surrounded by the aura of a saint.
"He's just sick, Detective," she wept softly. "He needs help. I won't let you arrest my husband."
