I stepped between them.
His hand grabbed air.
“Touch my daughter again,” I said, “and you’ll wish you’d stayed in your car tonight.”
Evan froze.
His eyes went to the phone in Emily’s hand, then to me, then to the front door.
“Daniel’s team is twenty minutes out,” I said.
“They’re bringing a forensic accountant, a family law attorney, and a security officer.
Your phone, your laptop, and every device in this house has already been flagged for preservation.
If you destroy anything in this room, that’s a separate charge.”
“You’re bluffing,” Evan said.
“Call your lawyer,” I said.
“Ask him what a preservation order means.”
Evan pulled out his phone.
It was dead.
He tried again.
Dead.
“Company phone,” I said.
“Suspended.”
He looked at Gloria.
“Give me your phone.”
Gloria pulled her phone close to her chest.
“No.”
“Give it to me!”
“No, Evan.”
He took a step toward her.
I moved.
“Sit down,” I said.
Evan looked at me.
Then at Emily.
Then at the phone in her hand — two hundred recordings that would end him.
He sat down.
The doorbell rang at 9:47 PM.
Daniel Cho walked in first.
Behind him: two paralegals carrying cases, a woman in a gray suit I didn’t recognize, and a uniformed officer.
“Margaret,” Daniel said.
He looked at the kitchen, the table, the three people sitting in silence.
“Everyone safe?”
“For now.”
Daniel set a folder on the table.
“Evan Hartwell.
