Clara: That... that's an old motion sensor for the alarm system!
Ethan: No. I upgraded the entire security grid three weeks ago after Maya told me about the open nursery window.
Clara: You... you installed cameras in the main hall?
Ethan: I installed high-definition 4K lenses with crystal-clear audio recording in every single room of this mansion except the private bathrooms.
Clara: You spied on me?
Ethan: I protected my son! And every second of your little performance today—you throwing him across the room, your shout to get rid of him, and Maya sliding across the floor to save his life—was recorded live to a secure off-site server.
Clara: Delete it! Ethan, delete that footage right now!
Ethan: It is already in the hands of my corporate legal team and the local police department.
Clara: Police? You called the police on your own wife?
Ethan: I called them from my car ten minutes ago when the security system sent an automatic audio alert to my phone featuring your voice screaming at the baby.
Outside the massive front windows, the loud, wailing sound of police sirens echoed down the long estate driveway.
Clara: No... no! This can't be happening to me! I am a Vance!
Ethan: You are not a Vance. You are a criminal who is about to be arrested for attempted felony child abuse.
Clara: Ethan, please! Think about my family's reputation! Think about the news headlines!
Ethan: I don't give a damn about the headlines. I care about the small boy in my arms who almost lost his life because of your sick greed.
Maya: The police are here, Mr. Vance. I see the flashing lights through the glass doors.
Ethan: Open the doors, Marcus. Let them in.
Clara: Don't open those doors! I command you not to open those doors!
The heavy double doors swung open, and four uniformed police officers strode into the grand foyer, led by a senior detective with a stern expression.
Detective Miller: Mr. Vance? We received the automated distress call and the live video link from your legal representative.
Ethan: Detective. Thank you for getting here so quickly. That woman standing there is Clara Vance. She attempted to murder my eight-month-old son by hurling him onto the marble floor.
Clara: Officer, he is lying! He is trying to frame me so he doesn't have to pay me in our divorce!
Detective Miller: Mrs. Vance, we have already reviewed the three-minute video clip sent directly from your home security feed. The footage is completely clear.
Clara: That video is edited! It's an AI fake created by his technology team!
Detective Miller: Ma'am, save your arguments for the judge. Hands behind your back, right now.
Clara: Don't you touch me! I am wearing a forty-thousand-dollar custom Victorian gown! You can't put handcuffs on me!
Officer: Turn around, ma'am. Do not make this harder on yourself.
The police officer grabbed Clara's wrists, pulling them firmly behind her back and clicking the cold steel handcuffs around her wrists.
Clara: Ethan! Tell them to stop! Tell them it was a misunderstanding!
Ethan: The only misunderstanding was me ever bringing a serpent like you into my home.
Clara: I will sue you! I will sue this entire police department! I will take every single penny you own!
Ethan: You won't take anything, Clara. You will be sitting in a county jail cell waiting for your arraignment while my lawyers file for an immediate annulment on the grounds of fraud and attempted murder.
Detective Miller: Take her to the car, boys.
The officers dragged Clara out through the front doors as she kicked and screamed, her expensive dress dragging across the stone steps as her voice faded into the distance.