Sylvia’s cold gaze swept over the people in the room, finally settling on the middle-aged cop standing right in front of her.
“So, you’re Fanny’s uncle, aren’t you?”
“I’m just doing my job, ma’am, following protocol,” he replied, not directly answering her question, standing up even straighter as if that made him more righteous.
But the quick, nervous glance he shot at Fanny gave him away.
Sylvia let out a soft laugh. “Sorry, but I don’t buy your so-called ‘procedure.’ I called 911 less than an hour ago, and somehow Ms. Lance already has her full medical report, while mine’s still missing two pages. Must be nice to have a crystal ball, huh?”
“And another thing, nobody’s even taken my statement. Since when do the police just pick sides based on the alleged victim’s story?”
“As for the psych eval, I’ve been cooperating with my therapist for months. The hospital records say I’m in remission. So how was I supposed to have a mental breakdown and deliberately shove Ms. Lance?”
“Oh, and since you’re related to the so-called victim, I want another officer. Otherwise, I’ll file a complaint for conflict of interest.”
Sylvia’s voice was calm but firm, every word sharp as a tack.
The cop just scoffed, unimpressed.
As she set her pen down, he instantly stiffened, as if expecting trouble. “Ma’am, I’d think twice before making any sudden moves. Assaulting an officer is a serious crime. You’d be looking at jail time, maybe even a felony.”
So now they were threatening her for not signing their paperwork? Classic.
It reminded Sylvia of her past life, of how Bridget and that kid had managed to conjure up “official” injury reports out of nowhere. Clearly, this was where the rot started.
“Sylvia! Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?” Tristan’s sharp voice cut through the tension, his steely eyes warning her to stop.
Before Sylvia could answer, Bridget swept in, the picture of gentle concern. “Tristan, please don’t get upset. It’s not worth it. Let me talk to Sylvia.”
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