Chapter 9 - The Legal Trap
Attorney Marcus Vance was not just any lawyer; he was a shark who specialized in high-conflict family torts and corporate negligence cases—the kind of man who ate hostile relatives for breakfast and asked for dessert.
When I walked into his downtown office on Friday afternoon, clutching a printed, time-stamped evidentiary packet containing Addison’s screenshot, the 911 dispatch logs, and Wren’s emergency room admission records, Vance took off his reading glasses and leaned back in his leather chair.
He didn't look shocked. He looked delighted.
"Jolene," Vance said, flipping through the printed pages with slow, methodical precision. "In my twenty-two years of practice, I have seen malice, stupidity, and familial cruelty in every possible shade. But conspiring in a group chat to poison a seven-year-old child just to win a fifty-dollar sports bet? That is a masterclass in sociopathy."
"Can we lock them up?" I asked, my hands resting flat on the mahogany desk.
"Criminal charges for reckless endangerment and second-degree child abuse carry serious prison time in this state," Vance replied, tapping his pen against the transcript of the THANKSGIVING EXPERIMENT group chat. "Especially since you have explicit, time-stamped text messages proving premeditation. They didn't make a mistake, Jolene. They executed a premeditated biological assault on a minor."
"I want everything," I said quietly. "I want restraining orders that keep them within a hundred miles of Wren. I want my mother’s house attached in civil damages so she can never use it as a stage for her cruelty again. And I want Kyle to explain to a judge why he thinks his daughter’s cousin is worth a fifty-dollar Venmo transaction."
Vance smiled—a sharp, predatory curve of his lips. "Consider it done. We won't just file papers. We're going to coordinate with the local prosecutor’s office for an immediate arrest warrant. And we’re going to time the service of the civil lawsuit so it hits them right where it hurts the most."
"Where's that?"
"Sunday afternoon," Vance said smoothly. "While your mother is hosting her usual post-Thanksgiving dinner leftovers party for the rest of the extended family."
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A dark, satisfying thrill echoed through my veins.
"Do it," I said.
