Ethan yelled out, scrambling backward, while Margaret shrieked in horror.
"That's assault!" Margaret screamed, her voice cracking into a high-pitched screech. "Security! Arrest this woman!"
"Call the police, Margaret," I said, stepping over Brandon's twitching legs into the hallway. "Please. Call them right now. Because when they arrive, I won't just file an aggravated assault report against your sons—I’ll make sure the rape crisis unit, the state forensic team, and the local news stations get a full look at my daughter's body."
I didn't wait for her reply. I walked down the corridor, past the nurses who pretended to look at their charts, and out through the glass doors into the cool North Carolina night.
I laid Emily gently in the front passenger seat of my SUV, adjusting the headrest and buckling her seatbelt. As I closed her door and walked around to the driver's side, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was an unknown number, but the text message was short:
“You have twenty-four hours to return Emily to the Prescott residence and sign the settlement, Colonel. If you refuse, we will ruin your daughter, destroy your career, and ensure you spend your retirement in a federal prison. You are out of your depth.”