Chapter 3 - The State's Machinery
The drive back to the airport was a blur of phone calls. I kept the Nissan parked under the shade of an overpass near Route 528, the hazard lights blinking in the humid air as I worked the system I had spent three decades mastering.
My first call was to Detective Marcus Vance at the DeKalb County Family Protection Unit. Marcus was a man who had seen the worst of humanity and still managed to keep his tie straight. We had worked forty custody-abuse cases together over the years.
"Steven," Marcus said, his voice gravelly through the speakerphone. "I'm looking at the intake log. Your neighbor called in an anonymous tip about a child left unattended on Cascade Drive. Was that you?"
"It was Joseph," I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "I told him to make the call the moment I verified the facts. Marcus, they left her. They drove to Orlando last night with the boy. She’s eight. The house was locked from the outside; she didn't even have a key to the deadbolt if there was a fire."
A heavy silence came through the line, followed by the distinct sound of Marcus typing on a mechanical keyboard. "Jesus, Steven. Anthony? I thought the boy had more sense than that."
"He doesn't have any sense when Natalie’s talking," I said bitterly. "Marcus, I need an emergency removal order based on immediate physical endangerment. I’m flying back on the 11:30 flight. I want the state to place her with me under a temporary kinship foster arrangement before Anthony’s plane lands on Tuesday."
"It’s Sunday, Steven. Getting a judge to sign an emergency order on a weekend without a prior history of physical abuse is a heavy lift. DFCS is going to want to do a home assessment first."
"I have the father on tape," I said, my fingers tracing the outline of the Olympus recorder in my pocket. "I have him admitting they left her alone because of her school schedule. I have the stepmother admitting they wanted time away from her due to 'behavioral issues.' It’s a clean admission of discriminatory neglect, Marcus. If you don't get this signed, I’ll file an ex parte injunction in superior court myself by sunrise tomorrow."
Marcus sighed, a sound of profound corporate exhaustion. "Send me the audio file from the airport. I’ll call Judge Harrison at home. She doesn't like people who leave kids behind to go see Mickey Mouse."
My second call was to my office manager, Clara. She was sixty-seven, possessed a memory like a steel trap, and had been organizing my legal filings since before Anthony graduated from high school.
"Clara, I need the file on the 2021 adoption decree for Skyla Thorne," I said, pulling the car back onto the highway. "Look at the secondary clauses regarding the educational trust fund I established. I want to see if there's an emergency revocation provision based on parental unfitness."
"Steven, what's happened?" Clara asked, her voice instantly dropping its professional rhythm.
"They left her, Clara. Alone. To go to Disney."
A sharp intake of breath. "The fools. The absolute fools. I’ll have the file on your desk by the time you get from the airport, Steven. And Steven?"
"Yes?"
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"Don't go easy on him just because you paid for his law school."
"He didn't go to law school, Clara," I said, looking at the gray asphalt line ahead of me. "He went into banking. And today, he's going to find out what happens when your credit runs out."
