Chapter 8 - Summoning the Authorities
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I stood up, turning to face the Fergusons once more. Patricia had folded her arms tightly across her chest, her jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line.
"You’re making promises to her that you cannot keep," Patricia warned, her voice dripping with condescension. "You can't protect her from the real world."
I took a slow, deliberate step toward her.
"You still don't understand who you are dealing with," I told her, my voice echoing off the sterile walls.
Her mouth curved into another cold, dismissive smile. "Oh, I understand perfectly. You are a military officer who has spent too much time giving orders to grunts. You think your little uniform gives you authority over civilian families and private estates. It doesn't."
I stepped even closer, completely invading her personal space until she was forced to look slightly up at me.
"My uniform gives me responsibility," I corrected her quietly. "There is a massive difference."
I didn't wait for her arrogant reply. I turned my head toward the open doorway, projecting my voice into the hallway.
"Nurse!" I barked, using the command voice that could carry across a crowded firing range.
Footsteps hurried down the hall. The same triage nurse who had tried to stop me earlier appeared in the doorway, looking nervously between my uniform and the wealthy family blocking the exit.
"Yes, Colonel?" the nurse asked, standing at attention.
"Please ask the attending ER physician and the hospital’s patient advocate to come to this room immediately," I ordered.
Nicholas’s confident smile instantly vanished. He took a step forward, his hands balling into fists. "Why? She's been discharged. We're taking her home."
I looked Nicholas up and down with utter disgust.
"Because," I announced loudly, ensuring the nurse heard every single word, "my daughter has just disclosed to me that she was isolated against her will, physically harmed, and deliberately prevented from contacting her family. This is now a crime scene."
Patricia’s face hardened into a mask of pure fury. "You cannot just make wild accusations and destroy people’s lives because you're angry!"
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I looked at Abigail’s swollen, blackened eye. I looked at the dark, violent fingerprint bruises marking her fragile arms. Then I looked back at Patricia, the woman who had likely watched it happen.
"No," I agreed softly. "People destroy their own lives when they arrogantly believe that no one will ever hold them accountable."
