My daughter hadn't returned a single text or call for fourteen days. Her husband insisted she was at a remote mindfulness ashram with a strict zero-technology policy.

Monday morning arrived with a brutal reality check.

I was sitting in the back of the municipal courtroom for Mark's arraignment. He was led in wearing an orange county jumpsuit, looking thoroughly miserable, but his eyes lit up when his attorney walked through the swinging doors.

It was Richard Vance. The most expensive, ruthless, morally bankrupt defense attorney in the tri-state area. Vance was famous for getting white-collar criminals and wealthy abusers off on technicalities.

The judge read the charges, his expression grim. "Given the severity of the kidnapping and attempted murder charges, the state requests remand without bail."

Vance stood up, straightening his tailored suit. "Your Honor, these charges are a theatrical overreach orchestrated by an overzealous, retired detective mother who has always hated my client. Sarah Davis has a documented history of severe depression and sleepwalking. My client returned home to find her actively trying to harm herself in the basement. In a moment of panic, waiting for a private psychiatric team to arrive, he restrained her to save her life. He is a pillar of the community, not a flight risk."

I gripped the wooden bench in front of me so hard my knuckles turned white. It was a complete, fabricated lie, designed to gaslight the court.

"Furthermore," Vance continued smoothly, "the evidence—the pill bottles and chains—were illegally seized by a private citizen without a warrant before the police arrived. The chain of custody is irreparably tainted."

The judge frowned, looking over the initial police report. Because I had broken the lock and entered the basement before calling it in, Vance was playing the illegal search card.