Chapter 7 - Safe Harbor and Legal War
My hands were clamped onto the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white as marble. My breath came in shallow, jagged gasps. Beside me on the passenger seat, my phone buzzed incessantly.
*Mom Calling.*
*Dad Calling.*
*Unknown Number.*
*Mom Calling.*
I reached over and switched the phone to airplane mode. I couldn't risk them tracking the GPS signal through our family cellular plan.
"Mommy?" Emiliano’s voice came from the back seat, small and trembling. He was still curled into a ball on the floorboards, hugging his knees.
"You can get up on the seat now, sweetheart," I said, trying to force warmth into my shaking voice. "We’re away from the house. We’re safe."
He climbed onto the bench seat, peering out the window at the passing pine trees. "Where are we going?"
"To see someone who can help us," I said.
I didn't take the highway toward the county courthouse. If Teresa had called Chief Miller, a patrol car would already be scanning the interstate exits. Instead, I took the winding state backroads into the neighboring county, pulling into the parking lot of a brick office park in Oakdale thirty minutes later.
I parked behind an overgrown hedge, pulled the flash drive and the blue folder from my purse, and walked Emiliano into the building. On the third floor, a frosted glass door read: *VANCE, STERLING & ASSOCIATES — MARTHA VANCE, ESQ. FAMILY LAW.*
Martha Vance was Julian’s aunt. She had represented Julian’s family for forty years. When Julian had vanished eight years ago, Martha had tried to contact me, but Teresa had obtained a restraining order claiming Martha was harassing a grieving, pregnant minor.
I pushed the door open. A brass chime rang softly overhead.
The receptionist looked up from her desk, her eyes widening as she took in my disheveled hair, the torn shoulder of my jacket, and the dark purple bruise blooming on Emiliano’s face.
"Can I help you?" she asked cautiously.
"My name is Clara Sterling," I said, my voice echoing in the quiet reception area. "This is Emiliano. I need to see Martha Vance immediately. It’s a matter of life and death."
The inner office door flew open before the receptionist could touch her intercom.
Martha Vance stood in the frame. She was a woman in her late sixties, with iron-gray hair cropped short, sharp hawkish features, and piercing gray eyes behind silver-rimmed glasses. She looked from me down to Emiliano, and her hand flew to her mouth.
"My God," Martha whispered, her voice cracking. "He has his father's eyes."
Five minutes later, Emiliano was in Martha’s private conference room with a coloring book and a juice box, while Martha and I stood over her large conference table.
I plugged my flash drive into her laptop and pressed play.
For ten minutes, Martha Vance watched the screen in absolute, chilling silence. She watched my mother strike Emiliano. She watched my father pin me down. She listened to Teresa calmly admit to forging my signature on temporary guardianship papers, and she listened to Robert discuss the millions stolen from Julian’s trust fund.
When the video ended, Martha leaned back in her leather chair. The color had drained from her face, replaced by an expression of pure, murderous legal fury.
"Teresa Sterling," Martha murmured, her voice steady and lethal, "has just committed felony aggravated assault on a minor, witness tampering, felony forgery, and with Robert, federal wire fraud and grand larceny."
Martha reached for her desk phone and punched in three numbers.
"Judge Harris's chambers," she commanded into the receiver. "Tell the Judge that Martha Vance is filing an emergency ex parte motion for immediate full custody, a permanent order of protection, and criminal warrants for Teresa and Robert Sterling. And tell him... Julian Vance will be in attendance."
My heart stopped. "Julian is here?"
May you like
Martha looked at me, her eyes softening for the first time. "He arrived in town two hours ago, Clara. He’s at the county courthouse right now, waiting for the docket to open."
***
