Chapter 9 - The Cloud Doesn't Lie
"That's private residential property," Richard's attorney blurted, stepping between Clara and her client. "Any footage obtained without a formal search warrant signed by a presiding district judge is completely inadmissible in a family or criminal proceeding."
"Is that right?"
A quiet, raspy voice came from the hallway intersection.
An older woman in a worn wool winter coat walked into the triage room, carrying an aluminum thermos and an iPad tucked under her arm. Her snow boots were coated in road salt.
Richard’s eyes went wide. "Maria?"
It was Maria Santos—the head housekeeper whom Evelyn had screamed at and fired without severance that very morning at 8:00 AM.
"You fired me, Mr. Vance," Maria said in a steady, unyielding voice, walking straight past the deputies. "You had your security guard escort me off the premises without letting me pack my belongings. But you forgot that I am the primary administrative user on the Vance Estate smart-home application. I set up the accounts four years ago when Clara lived in that house."
Richard lunged forward to grab the iPad. "Give me that!"
Deputy Miller, who had been watching the scene unfold with growing unease, instinctively blocked Richard's arm with his baton. "Mr. Vance. Step back."
"Deputy, she's stealing proprietary corporate data!" Richard snarled.
"I didn't steal anything," Maria said, tapping the iPad's screen and turning it toward the deputy, the intake nurse, and Clara. "It's a live cloud mirror. Look."
On the 11-inch screen, crisp 4K footage played in silence.
The timestamp read: 4:17 PM.
The video showed little Leo accidentally knocking a mug of cocoa onto a Persian rug. Then came Evelyn, stepping into the frame. The audio captured her high-pitched shriek: "You worthless little rat!"
The screen clearly displayed Evelyn striking Leo across the face with the heavy back of her ringed hand, knocking him sprawling onto the floorboards. Then, it showed Evelyn dragging the screaming four-year-old by the collar of his pajamas, shoving him through the sliding glass door into the sub-zero blizzard, and clicking the deadbolt.
The footage showed her laughing, taking a sip of red wine, and walking away while the child frantically beat his bare hands against the glass.
The emergency room lobby went dead, terrifyingly silent.
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The two sheriff deputies looked at the screen, then slowly turned their gazes to Richard Vance. The lead deputy's face had gone from professional skepticism to sheer disgust.
Cliffhanger: Before anyone could utter a syllable, the trauma bay doors burst open, and Dr. Patel sprinted out, his scrubs covered in saline, panic written across his forehead. "Crash cart! We need the pediatric defibrillator! The boy's heart just went into ventricular fibrillation!"
