I did not move.
I leaned close enough that only Victor could hear me.
“You call me a dog?” I whispered. “Then remember exactly what attack dogs are trained to do.”
His jaw tightened.
When I stepped back, I looked at Mason.
His hands were shaking.
Not from me.
From Victor.
That was the first useful thing I saw all day.
Fear had already found the weakest point in the family.
I smiled.
“I’m not calling the police,” I said loudly enough for all of them to hear. “I’ll take care of this myself.”
Victor heard a threat.
What I meant was evidence.
At 7:38 p.m., I photographed the seal on Tessa’s property bag, the bent key, the cracked phone, and every page of the intake form.
At 7:46, I wrote down the names of everyone in the hallway and the exact language they had used.
At 8:03, I submitted a written preservation request to hospital security for the corridor footage.
