“I’d like the assault preserved as part of the hospital record. No one leaves until statements are taken.”
Then she opened the folder.
Inside were neatly organized tabs.
Photographs.
Printed text messages.
Voicemails transcribed word for word.
Medical notes.
A certified copy of a petition already bearing a judge’s signature.
My mother’s eyes fixed on the court seal.
“What is that?”
Evelyn answered without emotion.
“A request for emergency protective orders filed this morning.”
“You planned this?”
“No.”
“My client prepared for you.”
The room fell silent except for the monitor.
Evelyn handed the first packet to the responding police officer who had arrived with hospital security.
“These are screenshots of repeated demands for twenty-five thousand dollars reserved for a medically necessary pediatric surgery.”
The officer flipped through the pages.
There were my mother’s messages.
Transfer it by Friday.
