Chapter 6 - A Price for Quiet
I met Felix at a crowded diner with Priya beside me. He looked exhausted. One spare card had survived in his camera bag. The footage caught Beatrice's face clearly as she struck me and reached for the gun. It also caught something the viral clip had missed: right before she dumped the tray, Noah pointed toward a large photograph of Juniper House on the ballroom screen.
"That's where Mommy couldn't get out," he had said.
Beatrice stepped between him and the camera. Then came the cruelty everyone had seen.
"She wasn't punishing bad manners," Felix said. "She was shutting him up."
Later that morning, a lawyer named Sonia Park agreed to speak with me. Sonia worked with families facing housing and guardianship disputes. She told me the criminal case belonged to prosecutors, while Noah needed protection from harassment now.
"You can love him and still need help doing this," she said when I apologized for not knowing the right words. "That's why I'm here."
Before noon a courier arrived with a settlement proposal from the foundation. It offered us two hundred fifty thousand dollars for counseling, relocation, and what the letter called future educational support. In return, I had to withdraw public allegations, refuse interviews, and sign an agreement promising not to pursue civil claims arising from Juniper House. The documents even described Noah's recollections as "unreliable childhood imaginings."
I shoved the pages away. "They want to buy his memory."
Sonia read the fine print. "And they want you to agree that there were no safety complaints before the fire. Don't sign."
That evening, a social worker called and said someone had filed an anonymous complaint questioning my fitness as Noah's guardian. The report claimed I exposed him to violence for attention. I knew who would profit if I lost him, but knowing and proving were two different things.
May you like
Sonia requested the complaint's basis and helped me gather records showing Noah was safe and thriving. When we left her office, a black SUV rolled slowly along the curb. Its rear window lowered just enough for me to see Owen Rusk inside.
"Take the money, Holly," he said. "The next offer won't be a check."
