“She didn’t provoke a push,” Arthur said, his deep voice booming through the foyer like thunder. “She was brutally beaten. Your daughter threw a pregnant woman down a flight of stairs and kicked her in the abdomen.”
Celeste rolled her eyes, setting her crystal flute down on a glass table with a sharp clink.
“Oh, please, spare me the theatrics,” Celeste sneered, standing up and crossing her arms. “She wasn’t pregnant. I knew it the second she said it. She was just lying to trap you, Marcus. She’s a gold-digger. I did you a favor.”
“The official, timestamped ultrasound confirming the eight-week fetal heartbeat is currently sitting in a sealed medical file,” I said softly, locking my eyes onto Celeste’s arrogant face. “The exact same file containing the rape kit photographs of Maya’s bruised neck, which I personally handed to the District Attorney on Friday afternoon.”
