Chapter 7 - Sylvia’s Version
Sylvia was released from questioning late Christmas morning.
She walked out of the sheriff’s office wearing the same burgundy dress from dinner.
Cameras were already outside.
I did not know who had alerted the press.
My father certainly had not.
But someone at David’s firm had learned that police had been called to a partner’s home after a Christmas gathering.
By noon, reporters were asking questions.
Sylvia gave them answers.
Too many answers.
“My daughter-in-law has always been troubled.”
“She fell.”
“I tried to help her.”
“We love Anna.”
Those three words nearly made me throw the television remote.
Dad switched off the screen.
“Don’t watch.”
“I need to know what they’re saying.”
“No.”
He sat across from me.
“You need to know what can be proven.”
That afternoon, David issued a statement through his attorney.
He claimed there had been a “private family medical event.”
He denied preventing me from receiving care.
He denied destroying my phone deliberately.
He denied threatening me.
Then he made another mistake.
He claimed he had never known my father’s identity.
That statement created a question reporters could not resist.
Why had the daughter of one of the most recognizable judges in the country hidden her family from her husband?
People invented theories immediately.
Estrangement.
Money.
Political secrecy.
Scandal.
Only three people knew the real reason.
Me.
Dad.
And my late mother.
Years earlier, after Mom died, I became suffocated by attention.
Reporters photographed me at school.
Strangers searched my name.
People wanted introductions to my father.
When I entered college, I used my mother’s maiden name.
Anna Wells.
For the first time, friendships felt real.
When I met David, I kept using it.
At first because I wanted privacy.
Later because I wanted to see whether he loved me without knowing whose daughter I was.
By the time we married, I was ashamed to tell my father how far the lie had gone.
So I chose silence.
David interpreted that silence as proof that I had nobody.
Now he was learning the difference between being alone and being private.
At 4:20 p.m., Detective Ruiz called.
“We found another witness.”
“Who?”
“The housekeeper.”
I sat upright.
Sylvia’s housekeeper had disappeared before dinner.
At least that was what Sylvia had told everyone.
Ruiz continued.
“She wasn’t gone.”
“Where was she?”
“In the laundry room.”
My chest tightened.
May you like
“And she heard everything.”
But what she had heard before Christmas dinner would change the case even more.
