Chapter 7: The Psychologist's Office
The waiting room of the pediatric child psychologist smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paperback books. Chloe sat beside me on the beige sofa, clutching a small stuffed rabbit Marcus had bought her at a roadside gas station. Her blue pajamas had long been replaced by a simple pink sweater and jeans, but her eyes still held that cautious, watchful dart that broke my heart every time she looked toward the door.
Dr. Helen Vance—no relation to us, thankfully—opened her office door and smiled warmly. She was a woman in her late fifties with silver-streaked hair and kind, patient eyes. "Arthur, Chloe," she said softly, stepping aside to let us enter. "Ready to draw some pictures with me, sweetheart?"
Chloe looked up at me, her small hand gripping my index finger tightly. I knelt down beside her, offering a reassuring smile. "Go ahead, honey. I'll be sitting right out here the whole time. You're completely safe." She hesitated for a moment, then slowly released my hand and walked into the bright, toy-filled office.
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the quiet corridor. Ten minutes later, David, my business partner and oldest friend, stepped off the elevator. He looked exhausted, his tie loosened and his suit jacket rumpled, carrying a heavy leather briefcase under his arm. He spotted me immediately and walked over, his expression grim.
"Arthur," David breathed, sitting down heavily in the chair next to mine. "I spent the last six hours reviewing the corporate audit you requested. You were right about the structural engineering bids. Cole redirected three million dollars in development funds through a subsidiary tied directly to Victoria's personal accounts."
"She used our family name as a front to launder money for a hostile takeover," I said, staring at the wood-paneled wall opposite us. "And she used our home as a prison for my daughter while she did it."
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David placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. "The board is in an uproar. Word of the emergency custody filing leaked to the financial press an hour ago. Cole’s people are trying to spin it as a messy domestic dispute, but once the SEC sees these audit trails, his corporate sponsorships will evaporate overnight."
Before I could answer, the psychologist's door opened. Dr. Helen stood in the doorway, her face pale and drawn, holding a stack of children's drawings. She looked directly at me, her professional composure barely masking a deep, profound sorrow. "Arthur," she whispered. "We need to talk about what Chloe drew regarding the man she calls Michael."
