Chapter 5 - The Race Against Time
I slammed my cuffed hands onto the metal table, demanding to make my one phone call.
The detective hesitated, sensing the genuine desperation of a terrified father.
He finally unlocked my cuffs and slid a battered landline phone across the table.
I dialed Lisa's number, praying she had not been separated from our daughter.
She answered on the first ring, her voice hushed and trembling with pure terror.
She told me she had barricaded the door to Emily's recovery room with a heavy medical cart.
Social workers were currently standing in the hallway, threatening to call hospital security to breach the door.
I asked her if she had seen the hidden videos I told her about before I was arrested.
Lisa confirmed she had watched them and had already sent them to her personal lawyer.
I instructed her to open the door and show the social workers the video of Michael coaching Tyler's abuse.
I knew it was the only way to prove a long-standing pattern of violence that completely contradicted my parents' lies.
Lisa put the phone on speaker, and I could hear the heavy thud of security guards ramming the hospital door.
The wooden frame splintered loudly as the guards finally forced their way into the quiet recovery room.
A stern social worker demanded that Lisa step away from the sleeping child immediately.
Lisa screamed for them to look at her phone screen, holding up the damning footage for everyone to see.
The room went completely silent as Michael's own voice echoed from the small speakers, instructing his son how to leave no bruises.
The social worker grabbed the phone, her face draining of color as she watched the horrific evidence.
She immediately ordered the security guards to stand down and called her supervisor.
I let out a massive breath of relief, knowing my daughter was finally safe from the system.
The detective in my interrogation room had been listening to the entire exchange on speakerphone.
He looked at me with a newfound respect and promised to fast-track my release papers.
Just as the detective stood up to process my bail, the precinct's fire alarm began shrieking uncontrollably.
Thick, black smoke instantly began pouring through the ventilation shafts of the police station.
The detective grabbed his radio, shouting for an evacuation as the lights flickered and died.
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Through the chaotic darkness, I heard the heavy interrogation room door click open.
A man wearing a dark ski mask stepped inside, holding a silenced pistol aimed directly at my chest.
