Chapter 4 - THE ACCUSATION
The radiator in Apartment 3B on West North Avenue clanked three times every four minutes, like an old iron heart trying to stay warm.
It was 9:00 PM.
Grace had fed the children warm rice and black beans, tucked Lily into the narrow twin bed under two heavy wool blankets, and watched Owen sit at the small kitchen table with his third-grade reading book.
Owen was not reading. He was staring at the small wooden box sitting on Grace’s sewing table near the window.
"Owen," Grace said softly, setting a warm cup of chamomille tea in front of him. "Go to sleep."
"Is he my dad?" Owen asked.
The question was so direct, so lacking in preliminary hesitation, that Grace’s hand froze over the teacup.
She sat down slowly in the wooden chair across from him.
"Owen..."
"He has the scar," Owen said, touching his own right temple with a small, neat index finger. "And Lily sang the song you only sing when you think we're not listening."
Grace looked at her son—at the sharp, fierce clarity in his eyes that had belonged to Ethan Calloway from the moment he was born.
"Yes," Grace whispered. "He is your father."
Owen didn't jump up. He didn't cry. He just looked down at his reading book, his small mouth forming a tight, thoughtful line.
"Why didn't he come to our house?" Owen asked. "When the radiator broke last winter?"
"He didn't know about you, Owen," Grace said, reaching across the table to cover his hand with hers. "His family... his father and his uncle... they told me that if I stayed near him, they would take you away from me using their lawyers and their money. They said a poor woman from Texas couldn't raise a child who belonged to the Calloway trust. I was scared, Owen. I was twenty-two years old and I had no one."
"So you took us away," Owen said.
"I took you away to keep you," Grace said, tears spilling over her lashes. "I would do it again a thousand times."
Before Owen could answer, a heavy, violent blow struck the apartment door.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Grace jumped up, her body instictively moving to stand between Owen and the entryway.
"Who is it?" she called out, her voice trembling.
"Chicago Police Department!" a harsh male voice barked from the hallway outside. "Open the door!"
Grace’s stomach plummeted into a cold abyss.
She walked to the door, pulled back the small brass peephole cover, and saw two uniformed police officers standing in the dim fluorescent light of the corridor. Standing behind them was a man in a grey suit.
She pulled the door open three inches, keeping the heavy brass security chain engaged.
"Can I help you, Officer?"
"Grace Morales?" the lead officer asked, pulling a folded white paper from his belt. "We have a warrant for your arrest."
"What?" Grace gasped, grabbing the edge of the door frame. "A warrant for what?"
"Grand Larceny and Theft of Controlled Pharmaceutical Supplies from Harbor Ridge Medical Center," the officer stated in a flat, mechanical voice. "A report was filed ninety minutes ago by hospital administration. Six thousand dollars worth of specialized neurological medication was removed from a private floor vault between two and four o'clock today. Surveillance footage places you on that floor."
"That's a lie!" Grace screamed, her voice echoing down the stairwell. "I was in the third floor community clinic! My children took the elevator by accident! I never touched any medication!"
"You can make your statement at the precinct, ma'am," the officer said, stepping forward and shoving his heavy shoulder against the door.
The brass security chain snapped out of the wooden frame with a loud, wooden CRACK.
"Mama!" Owen shrieked, sprinting toward the door.
The second officer stepped into the small apartment, pulling a set of steel handcuffs from his belt, while the man in the grey suit stood in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the poor room, the sewing machine, and the two terrified children.
"Take the mother into custody," the man in the grey suit said smoothly to the officers. "And contact Department of Children and Family Services for temporary protective placement of the minors."
"No!" Grace fought wildly, her arms flailing as the lead officer pulled her wrists behind her back, the cold steel clicking around her joints. "No! Don't touch my children! Owen! Take Lily! Run to Mrs. Gable next door! Run!"
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"Mama!" Lily screamed, waking up from her bed and bursting into tears as she saw the big men holding her mother against the kitchen table.
"Get them out of here," the man in the grey suit ordered calmly, pulling out his cell phone to place a call. "The proxy hearing is at eight tomorrow morning. This matter needs to be completely resolved before then."
