I THOUGHT MY FAMILY WOULD FINALLY PROTECT MY FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER, UNTIL MY MOTHER REVEALED WHO SHE REALLY CARED ABOUT WHEN SHE BEGGED ME TO COVER FOR MY BROTHER.

The downtown Chicago precinct was a maze of fluorescent lights, ringing desk phones, and the sharp, caffeinated energy of law enforcement at midday.

Detective Marcus Thorne led me past a row of cubicles into a small, sterile conference room furnished with a metal table and three plastic chairs. He closed the heavy door behind us, cutting off the ambient noise of the bullpen.

“I see you received the defense’s deposition notice,” Thorne said, tossing a duplicate copy onto the table before taking a seat opposite me.

I crossed my arms, leaning back in my chair. “It arrived this morning. Their attorney is trying to schedule it for early next week.”

“Standard intimidation tactic,” Thorne said, tapping a pen against the metal surface. “They want to wear you down before the trial. They’re hoping that by dragging you into a formal legal room with high-priced defense lawyers staring you down, you’ll soften your stance or claim you ‘don’t recall’ certain details to keep the family peace.”

“They don't know me anymore,” I replied flatly. “I’m not interested in keeping peace built on violence and lies.”

Thorne studied me for a long moment, a ghost of an approving smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Good. Because you’re going to need that armor. I pulled Derek’s updated file this morning. Your mother didn't just hire a local attorney; she retained Jonathan Sterling—the most ruthless corporate defense bulldog in Cook County. He specializes in getting violent offenders off on technicalities by destroying the character of the victims.”

“Let him try,” I said. “My character isn't on trial here. My brother’s criminal record and the ER medical reports are.”

“Just remember one thing during that deposition, Mrs. Vance,” Thorne warned, leaning forward. “Do not let them bait you. Sterling is going to bring up your past, your marriage, your financial dependence on your family—anything to paint you as an unstable, hysterical woman who imagined the whole thing. Stick strictly to the physical facts: the shove, the concrete, the assault on your daughter, and the blows that put you in the hospital.”