I stood up. I didn’t shout. I didn’t scream. I pulled my smartphone from my blazer, bypassed the lock screen, and dialed a number I knew by heart.
“Captain Miller. This is Katherine Mitchell,” I stated, my voice echoing like ice cracking over a frozen lake. “I need patrol units dispatched immediately to 345 Palm Avenue, Unit 802. Active domestic violence in progress. Physical assault with eyewitnesses.”
I lowered the phone, opened my voice memo application, hit record, and placed the device dead-center on the dining table, right next to the spilled water.
“Say it again, Spencer,” I commanded, staring directly into his hollow eyes. “Repeat exactly what you just did to my daughter. And Constance, I want you to repeat, into this microphone, what you just articulated about my child requiring correction.”
The arrogant, untouchable facade melted off Spencer’s face, replaced instantly by the panicked pallor of a cornered animal. “You… you can’t do this,” he stammered, stepping back.
I didn’t blink. “I have legally and financially dismantled two hundred and eighteen men exactly like you. You just committed felony assault on my daughter in my presence. Your mother just provided an audible justification for it, rendering her a material witness, and quite possibly, a criminal accomplice.”