Chapter 3 - The Trauma Report
Dr. Vance stepped forward, her eyes blazing with professional fury as she looked at Nicholas.
"The injuries on Abigail Ferguson are not consistent with a fall," Dr. Vance stated, her voice echoing off the sterile walls. "She has defensive wounds on her forearms, thumb-print bruising on her throat consistent with manual strangulation, and a fractured collarbone. These are the results of a severe, prolonged physical assault."
Nicholas’s face drained of color. He took a half-step back, his eyes darting toward the window. "She... she’s lying! She’s trying to ruin my family's name because she wants a bigger divorce settlement!"
"Shut up, Nicholas," Gregory hissed, finally realizing the gravity of the situation. He stepped in front of his brother, glaring at Detective Miller. "You can't arrest him on the word of a biased doctor and a military mother. We have lawyers on retainer who can tie this department up in federal court for the next ten years."
"Your lawyers can't do anything about a federal kidnapping warrant, Gregory," I said, stepping forward.
The ribbons on my chest clinked softly—silver stars, bronze stars, and the Purple Heart. Symbols of a life spent studying strategy, terrain, and the precise moment to strike.
"When you locked my daughter in your guest house and confiscated her communication devices, you didn't just commit a domestic offense," I continued, my voice cutting through the room like a razor blade. "Because Abigail is registered as my primary dependent under Title 10 of the United States Code, any act of unlawful confinement or physical harm against her while I am on active duty is classified as a federal offense under the Military Extraterritorial Jurisdiction Act."
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I looked at the two military police officers.
"Arrest him."
