Chapter 1 - The Voice on Speakerphone
David’s smile disappeared before the man on the other end finished speaking.
“Please identify yourself.”
The voice was controlled, low, and unmistakably accustomed to being answered.
David straightened instinctively.
“This is David Mercer.”
“I am calling on behalf of my wife, Anna.”
A brief silence followed.
Then the voice changed.
Not softer.
Sharper.
“Where is my daughter?”
Every person standing near the kitchen doorway became still.
Sylvia’s face lost its color.
David looked down at me.
For the first time that evening, he seemed uncertain.
“She is here.”
“What is her condition?”
David’s eyes moved toward the guests.
He was calculating which lie would survive witnesses.
“She slipped.”
I pressed one hand against my stomach.
The pain came in waves now.
Each one was stronger than the last.
“He is lying,” I whispered.
My father heard me.
“Anna?”
“I am on the kitchen floor.”
“Sylvia pushed me.”
“David broke my phone.”
“My stomach hurts.”
The calm on the other end became more frightening than anger.
“David, do not touch her.”
David laughed nervously.
“I think there has been a misunderstanding.”
“Who are you?”
My father answered without raising his voice.
“Chief Justice Nathaniel Whitmore.”
The name struck the room like thunder.
One of David’s coworkers dropped his fork.
Sylvia reached for the counter.
David’s phone nearly slipped from his hand.
Nathaniel Whitmore had served on the nation’s highest court for twelve years.
His opinions were taught in law schools.
His confirmation hearings had been watched by millions.
David had quoted him inside courtrooms.
He had praised him at firm dinners.
He had once spent half an hour explaining to me why Chief Justice Whitmore represented everything an attorney should aspire to become.
He had never known the man was my father.
My father continued.
“I have already contacted emergency services.”
“They have your location.”
“Anna, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Stay still.”
“Help is coming.”
David recovered enough to find his voice.
“Chief Justice, sir, I am an attorney.”
“I understand how this must appear.”
“No,” my father said.
“You understand how you want it to appear.”
“The distinction will matter.”
Sylvia pushed past him.
“This is a private family matter.”
My father heard her.
“Violence against a pregnant woman is not private.”
“You do not know what happened,” Sylvia snapped.
“I know my daughter asked for an ambulance.”
“I know her husband destroyed her phone.”
“And I know you are speaking while she is still on the floor.”
Sirens sounded outside.
Several guests looked toward the front windows.
David ended the call.
He slipped the phone into his pocket as though cutting the connection could restore his authority.
“You should have told me,” he said.
I stared at him.
“Would you have treated me differently?”
His silence answered.
The front door opened.
Paramedics entered with police officers behind them.
David moved toward me.
One officer blocked him.
“I am her husband.”
The officer looked at the shattered phone near the baseboard.
“Then you can explain why her emergency call had to come through someone else.”
A paramedic knelt beside me.
She touched my abdomen carefully.
Her expression changed.
“We need to move now.”
“Possible placental abruption.”
The words emptied the room of every remaining illusion.
As they lifted me onto the stretcher, I turned toward David.
He stood beneath the Christmas garland with his mother beside him.
Both looked frightened.
May you like
Not for me.
For themselves.
