Chapter 3 - THE UNRAVELINGZ
The waiting room of Dr. Aris Thorne’s child psychology practice was designed to look like a sunlit living room, filled with soft pastel colors, wooden toy chests, and plush beanbag chairs. But no amount of warm decor could cut through the suffocating tension that clung to Howard and me.
Howard sat on the edge of a grey sofa, his bulky white cast resting heavily on an ottoman. He was staring down at his hands, pulling at a loose thread on his jeans. He hadn't said more than five words to me since I found the black-mail envelope in the mailbox.
"Howard, honey," I said gently, leaning over from my chair to touch his shoulder. He flinched slightly—a tiny, involuntary movement that pierced my heart like a dagger. "Dr. Thorne is just going to talk to you. You aren't in any trouble. Nobody is angry with you."
"Is Dad going to go to jail?" Howard asked softly, his eyes still glued to his lap.
The question caught in my throat. "Why would you ask that, sweetie?"
"Because... because he called me on my iPad before you came downstairs this morning," Howard whispered, his voice trembling. "He told me that if I talk to the doctors or the judges, police officers might come and take him away. He said I’d have to go live in a group home if you both went to court."
A wave of pure, incandescent rage swept through me. Jasper had bypassed the block on Howard’s phone by messaging his iPad through a shared game app. He was actively manipulating and terrifying our ten-year-old child to protect his own skin.
"That is a lie, Howard," I said, taking his small, cold hands in mine and looking directly into his eyes. "Look at me. That is an absolute lie. You are never going to a group home. You are going to stay right here with me. Your father said those things because he is scared of his own mistakes, not because you did anything wrong. Do you understand me?"
Before Howard could answer, the door to the inner office opened, and Dr. Thorne stepped out. He was a tall man in his late forties with a gentle demeanor, wire-rimmed glasses, and a calm, reassuring presence.
"Clara? Howard?" Dr. Thorne offered a warm smile. "Come on back."
I walked with Howard into the office, helping him navigate his crutches. The room was lined with books, art supplies, and a large sandbox filled with miniature figurines.
"Clara, if you don't mind, I’d like to spend the first thirty minutes alone with Howard," Dr. Thorne said gently. "Then we'll bring you back in."
I nodded, swallowing my anxiety. "Of course. I’ll be right outside."
I walked back out to the waiting room, pulling out my phone with trembling fingers. I immediately called Eleanor.
"Eleanor, Jasper reached Howard through an iPad app," I hissed into the receiver, keeping my voice low. "He told him that if he talks to the therapist, Jasper will go to jail and Howard will end up in a group home! This is witness tampering! It’s emotional abuse!"
"Calm down, Clara," Eleanor’s measured voice came through the line. "Did you save the messages?"
"I took screenshots of the chat log on his iPad before we left the house," I said. "I have them saved to my cloud."
"Good. That is crucial," Eleanor said. "Listen to me carefully: we have our emergency hearing scheduled for Thursday morning in front of Judge Evelyn Vance—no relation to me, but she is known for being extremely tough on domestic manipulation. I am adding a motion for a total gag order, an immediate cessation of all digital communications, and mandatory supervised visitation only."
"What about the photos Jasper sent me?" I asked, my voice cracking. "The photos of me meeting my brother Marcus? He’s threatening to paint me as an unstable drug user or an unfaithful mother."
"Let him try," Eleanor snapped. "We will provide Marcus’s birth certificate, affidavit, and drug screening results for you if necessary. Sterling is throwing paint at the wall to see what sticks because he knows his client is in deep trouble. Keep your eyes on the prize, Clara: Howard's safety."
When the thirty minutes were up, Dr. Thorne opened his door and motioned for me to come back in.
Howard was sitting at a small table, drawing with colored pencils. He looked calmer than he had in days, though his small shoulders were still slouched.
Dr. Thorne gestured for me to sit on the armchair while he took a seat behind his desk. He adjusted his glasses and pulled up a yellow legal pad.
"Clara," Dr. Thorne began, choosing his words carefully. "Howard and I have had a very productive chat. He is a very smart, remarkably empathetic boy. But he is carrying an unnatural amount of psychological weight."
"Because of Jasper?" I asked.
"Because of the dynamics of the environment he was placed in," Dr. Thorne corrected gently. "Howard revealed to me what actually happened the afternoon he broke his leg. It wasn't just a matter of his father taking a phone call."
I leaned forward, my chest tightening. "What do you mean?"
Dr. Thorne looked down at his notes. "According to Howard, the woman in question—Kelly—was not just a colleague. She had been staying at Jasper's house for three days prior to the incident. Howard reported feeling uncomfortable because Jasper and Kelly were arguing loudly about a 'financial audit' and 'missing records' from Jasper’s firm."
My mind whirled. Missing records? A financial audit?
"Go on," I whispered.
"On the day of the injury, Jasper and Kelly were arguing in the home office," Dr. Thorne continued. "Jasper told Howard to go play outside on the second-story deck and locked the glass sliding door behind him so they wouldn't be interrupted. Howard was locked outside on the deck for over an hour in the heat. He tried to climb down off the railing to get a drink of water because he was thirsty and couldn't get his father's attention. That is when he slipped and fell twelve feet onto the stone patio."
Tears spilled over my eyelids. A cold, terrifying realization settled in my gut. It wasn't just neglect. Jasper had literally locked our ten-year-old child outside on a elevated deck in the heat so he could engage in an illegal cover-up with a woman who was involved in his corporate misconduct.
"And then," Dr. Thorne said, his voice grave, "when Howard was laying on the ground screaming with a fractured bone, Jasper came out, picked him up, and told him that if he told you or the doctors that the door was locked, the family would be ruined. He made Howard rehearse the 'I just slipped while playing' story three times in the car before taking him to the emergency room."
"My God," I sobbed, covering my face with my hands. "My poor baby..."
"Howard wasn't afraid of being hurt," Dr. Thorne said softly. "He was terrified that by telling the truth, he would destroy his family. That is classic psychological coercion."
"What do we do now?" I asked, looking at Dr. Thorne through a haze of tears.
"Now," Dr. Thorne said, "I file a mandatory report with Child Protective Services based on child endangerment and physical neglect. And you, Clara, need to prepare yourself. When a man like Jasper feels his entire world—his money, his freedom, his reputation—collapsing around him, he becomes dangerous."
As if on cue, my phone vibrated in my lap. It was a text message from an unknown number.
I unlocked the screen. It was a picture of Kelly, sitting at a desk covered in financial documents, holding up a folder with Jasper's firm logo on it.
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Below the photo was a text:
Tell your lawyer to pull the motion, Clara. Or Kelly goes to the federal prosecutors with Jasper's offshore files, and when he goes down, he's taking your alimony, Howard's trust fund, and your house with him. You have 24 hours.
