Chapter 8 - The Custody Hearing
I woke up to the smell of burning rubber and gasoline.
My head was bleeding, and my left arm was pinned painfully between the crushed door and the steering wheel.
I kicked the shattered windshield with my good leg until the glass gave way, allowing me to crawl out onto the wet pavement.
The black SUV that hit me was already gone, leaving only black tire marks on the road.
I dragged myself over to the passenger side and reached into the crushed cabin.
The stuffed bunny was wedged under the seat, covered in broken glass, but the recorder inside felt intact.
I looked at my watch through a haze of pain and realized the hearing was starting in twenty minutes.
I limped three agonizing miles through the city streets, ignoring the strange looks from early morning commuters.
I reached the grand stone steps of the county courthouse just as the clock tower chimed eight times.
I burst through the heavy wooden doors of Courtroom 302, covered in blood, rain, and dirt.
Caroline was sitting at the plaintiff's table, dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue while her expensive lawyer spoke.
"Your honor, the father is clearly unstable, violent, and utterly unfit to care for this disabled child," the lawyer was saying.
My father sat in the gallery, wearing a smug suit, fully believing his money had bought the victory.
The judge looked down from the bench, a man whose pockets were lined with my family's stolen money.
"Given the father's absence, I am prepared to grant permanent custody to Miss Caroline Miller," the corrupt judge announced, raising his gavel.
"I am here!" I shouted, limping down the center aisle.
The entire courtroom gasped in shock at my battered appearance.
Caroline’s face went completely pale, her fake tears vanishing instantly.
"He looks insane, arrest him!" my father demanded from the back row.
I ignored them and slammed the gray bunny onto the defense table.
"I have audio evidence of the exact moment my sister assaulted my daughter, and the moment my family laughed at her," I declared loudly.
The judge slammed his gavel down rapidly, his face turning red.
"This is highly irregular, I will not allow unverified recordings in my courtroom!" the judge shouted defensively.
Before the bailiffs could grab me, the heavy courtroom doors swung open again.
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Doctor Caldwell walked down the aisle, holding a thick stack of printed financial documents.
"Perhaps the court would prefer to review the wire transfers made from Arthur Miller's corporate account to this judge's offshore bank account last night," Doctor Caldwell announced to the silent room.
