Chapter 5
“So, we build an ironclad cage,” I said, stopping my pacing. “I need a medical professional to document the trauma. And I need to get inside his house to find digital proof.”
Irwin raised an eyebrow. “Breaking and entering?”
“Aggressive location scouting,” I corrected darkly. “I need you to find me a doctor who won’t flinch.”
By dawn, Irwin had pulled a massive favor. We had a discreet appointment with Dr. Jesse Gordon, a pediatric specialist who consulted for prosecutors on severe abuse cases. She agreed to examine Ella off the books, provided I could get her to the clinic.
The extraction required a tactical lie. I called Cortez the following Wednesday.
“Hey,” I said, forcing a casual, breezy tone. “I’m shooting some B-roll footage in Hartford tomorrow for the new project. I was thinking I could pick Ella up from school, take her to that indoor winter carnival. Give you and Elia a quiet afternoon.”
Silence on the line. I could practically hear his paranoid brain scanning the offer for traps.
“Elia is actually flying to Atlanta tomorrow for a networking summit,” Cortez mused slowly. “I have my racquetball league in the afternoon. Fine. She dismisses at three. Bring her back by seven.”
“You got it,” I said, hanging up before my voice could betray the adrenaline spiking in my veins.
Thursday was a bleak, slate-gray afternoon. I picked Ella up from her elite private academy. The teachers handed her over without a second glance; Uncle Mike was on the emergency list. Once she was strapped into my backseat, clutching a battered stuffed rabbit, I looked at her in the rearview mirror.
“We aren’t going to a carnival today, butterfly,” I said softly. “We are going to see a very nice doctor. A safe person who is going to help make the bad things stop.”
Her lower lip quivered. “Will Daddy find out?”
“Not until it’s too late for him to hurt you ever again. I swear it on my life.”
Dr. Gordon’s clinic was hidden inside a nondescript medical park. The examination took an excruciating seventy minutes. Irwin and I sat in the waiting room, staring at the sterile white walls. When Dr. Gordon finally stepped out, her professional composure was cracking. Her face was ashen.
She pulled me into the hallway. “The evidence is catastrophic, Mike. It is undeniable. The patterning of the injuries, the physical trauma… it is consistent with severe, ongoing abuse. As a mandated reporter, I am legally obligated to contact CPS and law enforcement this exact second.”