They watched as Mia stood in the living room, quietly asking for a glass of water. They watched Julian roll his eyes and tell Claire to "get rid of the brat." They watched Claire grab her own five-year-old daughter by the arm, drag her to the patio door, shove her out into the freezing rain, and slide the heavy lock into place.
And then, they heard the audio.
“Mommy, it’s cold! Please let me in!” Mia’s recorded voice sobbed through the iPad speakers.
“Stop breathing so loud and learn your place, Mia,” Claire’s recorded voice snapped back. “The new prince needs quiet.”
The officers watched as Claire walked back to the couch, sat down, poured a glass of wine, and laughed with Julian while her daughter pounded on the glass for twenty agonizing minutes.
The lead officer slowly handed the iPad back to me. His face was a mask of sheer, unadulterated disgust. He looked at Claire, who was still kneeling on the Persian rug, pretending to cry.