Chapter 12 - Twelve Small LinesThe child advocacy center had a room painted pale yellow.
There were soft chairs, a small table, picture books, and a basket of toys.
Nothing about it resembled an interrogation room.
Daniel sat in the waiting area while a trained forensic interviewer spoke with Lucy privately.
He had been told not to rehearse answers with her.
Not to ask what she intended to say.
Not to reward one version of events over another.
He had agreed.
Still, waiting was harder than he expected.
He kept looking at the door.
After the interview, the professional explained the next steps and what information could appropriately be shared with him while the investigation continued.
Lucy had described being shut inside the playhouse on three different occasions.
The first followed an argument about moving.
The second happened after she asked where Rebecca's belongings had gone.
The third was the day Daniel returned early.
The scratches on the wall represented something painfully specific.
Each group recorded how many times Lucy had called for help during one confinement.
Four calls.
Three calls.
Five calls.
Twelve lines.
Twelve attempts to make somebody open the door.
Daniel closed his eyes.
He had initially feared they represented twelve separate confinements.
Learning the actual meaning brought no relief.
Each mark was a moment when his daughter had believed someone might come.
And no one had.
The interviewer had also documented Lucy's account of finding Claudia in Rebecca's study.
Lucy had entered looking for an old birthday photograph.
She found Claudia opening Rebecca's blue folder.
Claudia was sorting papers into separate piles.
Lucy recognized her mother's handwriting and asked why the papers were being removed.
Claudia told her the house would soon belong to Grandma.
Lucy protested.
Mommy said this is my home.
Claudia became angry.
She tore a page.
Lucy picked up the fragment after Claudia walked away.
Then she hid it inside Snow.
When Claudia realized something was missing, she demanded that Lucy return it.
Lucy refused.
The first playhouse confinement followed.
Daniel sat with both hands pressed against his face.
His daughter hadn't understood financing.
She hadn't known about LLCs, appraisals, or trust restrictions.
She had simply seen an adult destroying something that belonged to her mother.
And she had tried to save it.
The interviewer explained that Lucy's account would be assessed alongside other evidence. A child's statement was important, but investigators would still verify what they could independently.
Daniel understood.
He wanted every finding to withstand scrutiny.
When Lucy emerged, she looked tired.
But she didn't look frightened.
The interviewer had allowed her to choose a small sticker.
She had selected a yellow star.
Daniel crouched.
“How was it?”
Lucy considered.
“She listened.”
He felt his eyes sting.
“I'm glad.”
Lucy examined the sticker.
“She didn't tell me I was bad.”
Daniel swallowed.
“You weren't bad.”
“Even when I took Mommy's paper?”
“Even then.”
Lucy leaned against him.
“I thought Aunt Claudia would put Snow in the trash if she found it.”
Daniel held her gently.
“She can't do that now.”
“Promise?”
“I can promise that I'll protect your things and tell you if anyone needs to handle them for the investigation.”
Lucy looked at him.
“That sounds like a grown-up promise.”
He smiled sadly.
“It is.”
On the drive back to the hotel, Lucy asked for ice cream.
Daniel almost said yes immediately.
Then he remembered that she'd barely eaten lunch.
“How about something to eat first, and then ice cream?”
She frowned.
“Can I choose what?”
“Of course.”
She chose grilled cheese.
It was the smallest decision in the world.
Yet Daniel realized how much his daughter had lost the freedom to decide even ordinary things.
At the restaurant, Lucy sat facing the entrance.
Every time the door opened, she looked up.
Daniel noticed.
He didn't tell her to stop worrying.
He simply moved his chair so she could see him more easily.
Halfway through her sandwich, she asked a question.
“Daddy, do you remember when Mommy put flowers by my little house?”
“Yes.”
“She said I could put anything in there that made me happy.”
“I remember.”
Lucy turned Snow over in her lap.
“Can we make it happy again?”
Daniel couldn't answer immediately.
He wanted to tear the playhouse apart.
He wanted the latch destroyed.
He wanted every board associated with her fear removed from the property.
But Lucy was asking something different.
She didn't want another adult deciding what happened to her special place.
“I don't know yet,” he said. “But when it's safe, you can help decide.”
She nodded.
Then she finished her sandwich.
That evening, Tessa called with news.
Ellen's attorney had filed a petition seeking Daniel's removal as trustee.
The filing cited his extensive business travel, alleged neglect of Lucy's emotional needs, and supposed mismanagement of the villa.
Attached were Claudia's six pages of behavioral reports.
Daniel listened in disbelief.
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His mother was no longer merely trying to persuade him.
She was trying to take away his authority to say no.
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