Not at me.

“Claire,” he groaned, irritated, “why do you always create drama?”

“I’m losing the baby!” I cried. “Call 911!”

“No,” he snapped immediately.

He grabbed my phone and smashed it against the wall.

“No ambulance. The neighbors will talk. I just made partner at the firm. I don’t need police showing up at my house.”

My heart sank.

I realized in that moment that he cared more about his reputation than our child.

I reached for him desperately.

“Please… Thomas…”

Instead, he crouched down and grabbed my hair, forcing my head back.

“Listen carefully,” he whispered. “I’m a lawyer. I know every judge in this county. If you accuse me of anything, I’ll have you declared mentally unstable.”

He smirked.

“You’re an orphan, remember? Who would believe you?”

Something inside me changed.

The pain was still there, but the fear disappeared.

I looked straight into his eyes.

“You’re right,” I said calmly. “You know the law.”

He smiled arrogantly.

“But you don’t know who wrote it.”

He frowned.

“What does that even mean?”

“Give me your phone,” I said.

“Why?”

“Call my father.”

Thomas burst out laughing.

“Your father?” he mocked. “The retired clerk from Florida?”

“Just call him,” I replied quietly. “Put it on speaker.”

Still amused, he dialed the number I recited.

The call connected after two rings.

A deep voice answered immediately.

“Identify yourself.”

Thomas rolled his eyes.

“This is Thomas Whitmore. I’m Claire’s husband. Your daughter is causing a ridiculous scene here—”

“Where is my daughter?” the voice interrupted sharply.

Thomas paused, confused.

“She’s right here on the floor crying because she slipped.”

He pushed the phone toward me.

“Dad…” I whispered weakly.

The silence on the other end was heavy.

“Claire?” my father asked, his voice suddenly tense. “Why are you crying?”

“They pushed me,” I said. “Margaret shoved me. I fell. I’m bleeding… I think I lost the baby.”

For a moment there was no sound.

Then the voice returned—no longer just a father’s voice.

It was authority itself.

“Thomas Whitmore,” he said slowly.

“Yes…?”

“This is William Carter, Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court.”

Thomas froze.

The color drained from his face.

“I… what?”

“You harmed my daughter,” my father said coldly. “And my grandchild.”

“It was an accident!” Thomas shouted. “She slipped!”

“You will not move,” my father continued. “You will not touch her again. Federal officers are already on their way.”