Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2 — The Six Witnesses
The next forty-eight hours in the hospital were a blur of pain management, police interviews, and lawyers.
Wyatt refused to leave my side. He had his executive assistant bring him fresh clothes, his laptop, and a catered meal for the nursing staff.
He transformed my hospital room into a fortress. Two private security guards stood outside the door, hired by Wyatt the moment he realized my parents were trying to spin a false narrative.
“No one from my family gets on this floor,” I told the head nurse.
“Don't worry, honey,” she smiled warmly. “Mr. Campbell has made it very clear. You are completely safe.”
On the third day, Detective Miller returned.
This time, he didn't look like a man trying to piece together a puzzle. He looked like a man who had just solved one of the most disturbing cases of his career.
“How are you feeling, Sadie?” he asked, pulling up his usual chair.
“Like I lost a fight with a brick wall,” I tried to joke, though moving my face still sent sharp needles of pain through my jaw.
“Well, I have some news that might make you feel a little better,” Miller said, opening a thick manila folder.
“Your father’s claim of self-defense has been entirely thrown out. The District Attorney is officially pressing charges for Aggravated Assault with a Deadly Weapon, Attempted Murder, and Conspiracy.”
Wyatt leaned forward, grabbing my hand. “Did they confess?”
“No, they’re still sticking to their ridiculous story,” Miller scoffed. “But it doesn't matter. They didn't realize they had an audience.”
Miller pulled out a photograph from the folder and placed it on the tray table over my bed.
It was a screenshot from a cell phone video.
“The electrician who pulled up in the utility truck, Marcus Thorne, gave a full statement,” Miller explained.
“He testified that he saw Gregory strike you unprovoked while you were simply standing there. But Marcus was just witness number one.”
Miller pulled out five more printed statements.
“Witnesses two through six were your next-door neighbors, the Hendersons.”
I gasped. The Hendersons were a quiet, elderly couple who lived in the blue house next to my parents, but they had three adult children who visited often.
“The Hendersons were having a backyard barbecue,” Miller continued. “When your father and Wyatt started fighting, they crashed into the rose bushes right against the property line fence.”
Wyatt nodded slowly. “I remember. The thorns tore my jacket.”
“The noise caught the neighbors' attention,” Miller said. “All five adults looked over the fence. They heard everything.”
My chest tightened. “What exactly did they hear?”
“They heard your mother laughing,” Miller said, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute disgust.
“They heard Melanie tell Wyatt to ‘get over it.’ And they heard your father explicitly demand that Wyatt marry Melanie to stay in the family.”
A profound sense of relief washed over me. I wasn't going to be trapped in a ‘he-said, she-said’ nightmare. The truth was out there.
“One of the Henderson sons is a law student,” Miller added, tapping the screenshot on my table.
“He pulled out his phone and recorded the entire altercation over the fence, including your father kicking Wyatt’s phone away to prevent him from calling 911.”
Wyatt let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “They really thought they could get away with it.”
“Arrogance makes people incredibly stupid,” Miller agreed.
“So they’re in jail?” I asked, needing the verbal confirmation to truly feel safe.
“Gregory and Brenda were denied bail,” Miller confirmed. “Melanie was released on bond, but she’s facing accessory charges. Her passport has been flagged, and she has a restraining order keeping her at least a thousand feet away from both of you.”
“Good,” Wyatt said, his jaw clenched tight. “But Detective, what about the house?”
Miller frowned, closing the folder.
“That brings me to your statement, Sadie. About the old man in the window.”
I nodded, my heart rate picking up. “I know what I saw, Detective. He had white hair, thinning on top. He looked frail, and his hand was pressing against the glass. He looked terrified.”
“We executed a search warrant on the property yesterday to retrieve the broken pieces of the brick for forensics,” Miller said slowly.
“The house was completely empty. No sign of forced entry. No sign of anyone else living there.”
“That’s impossible,” I insisted. “I grew up in that house. I know every inch of it.”
“Maybe he was a trespasser? Or someone who broke in after the incident?” Wyatt suggested.
“No,” I said, shaking my head as much as the bandages allowed. “He was wearing a light blue cardigan. The same kind my mother used to buy for...”
I stopped. The breath caught in my throat.
“Sadie? What is it?” Wyatt asked, standing up in alarm.
I looked at Detective Miller, my blood running cold.
“When I was six years old, my mother’s father, my Grandpa Arthur, supposedly passed away in a nursing home in Florida.”
“Okay?” Miller prompted.
“My mother never let us go to the funeral. She said it was a closed casket. She brought back a box of ashes and put them in a mausoleum.”
I looked at Wyatt, my hands trembling uncontrollably.
“Wyatt... the man in the window... he looked exactly like an older version of Arthur Pendleton.”
Detective Miller stared at me, the professional detachment completely vanishing from his face.
“Your grandfather?”
“Detective,” I said, my voice dropping to an urgent whisper. “Did you check the basement? The old fruit cellar behind the wooden panels?”
May you like
Miller pulled out his radio instantly.
“Get a forensics team back to the Davis residence,” he barked into the receiver. “And bring sledgehammers.”
