Chapter 9 - The ConfrontationTwo days later, the preliminary arraignment took place at the King County District Court.
Linda sat at the defense table flanked by a sharp-suited attorney from a prominent downtown firm. She wore a tailored beige blazer, her silver hair neatly styled, looking every bit the refined suburban grandmother rather than an abusive criminal who had deliberately triggered a postpartum hemorrhage.
When I walked into the gallery carrying documentation from Marcus, Linda turned her head and met my gaze. There was no remorse in her eyes—only a chilling, patronizing amusement. She clearly believed her financial trap had already secured her victory.
The prosecutor laid out the charges: reckless endangerment in the second degree, domestic abuse, and willful withholding of medical aid. However, because Megan was still recovering in the hospital and formal statements were pending, the judge set bail at a manageable twenty-five thousand dollars, accompanied by a strict no-contact order prohibiting Linda from approaching Megan, Noah, or myself, and barring her from coming within five hundred feet of our Bellevue residence.
As Linda was being led out of the courtroom by a bailiff to process her bond release, she managed to break away for a brief second as she passed the gallery aisle where I stood.
"You think a piece of paper from a judge stops me, Ethan?" she hissed softly, her voice venomous. "The house is mine. The courts will see that your wife is unstable, and I will have custody of my grandson by the end of the month. You brought this on yourself."
"You're playing a game you’ve already lost, Linda," I replied, my voice chillingly calm. "You think you're the smartest person in the room, but you left a digital paper trail a mile wide."
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She scoffed, tossing her head back, and walked out.
She thought she was untouchable because she owned the physical deed to our house. But she didn't know what I had discovered late the previous night while digging through my father’s old digital archive files—files Linda thought she had permanently deleted years ago after my father passed away.
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