Chapter 5 - The Sister's Audacity
By seven o'clock that evening, I had checked Mason and myself into an extended-stay suite on the quiet side of Las Cruces, away from the frantic crime scene at Stephanie's house. I bought him three full plates of hot barbecue ribs, fresh clothes, and let him take a forty-five-minute shower to wash away the smell of the garage.
Seeing him in a clean, oversized Army hoodie, eating real food with an appetite he clearly hadn't indulged in months, brought tears to my eyes that I had to fight to blink back. But the fight was far from over.
My phone rang. The screen displayed a number from the Doña Ana County Detention Center.
Collect call from an inmate: Stephanie Ruiz.
I signaled Mason to keep eating his dinner, walked out onto the private balcony overlooking the desert mountains, and accepted the call.
""Toni! You have to get me out of here right now!"" Stephanie’s voice exploded through the receiver, devoid of remorse, dripping with furious entitlement. ""Do you have any idea what it’s like in here? They put me in a holding cell with drug addicts! They set my bail at one hundred thousand dollars!""
""You're lucky they set bail at all, Stephanie,"" I said, my voice deadpan and icy.
""You ruined my life!"" she screamed. ""I was building a future! I took care of your brat when you decided playing soldier in the sand was more important than raising your own flesh and blood! You owe me! You call your military lawyers and get them down here to post my bond! If you don't, I will tell the local news that you abandoned your son with a woman who had no childcare license and that this whole thing is your fault!""
I took a slow, deep breath, feeling the cold desert air fill my lungs.
""Stephanie, listen to me very carefully,"" I said, every word clipped and lethal. ""You didn't take care of my son. You enslaved him. You forged school withdrawal forms. You used the fifteen hundred dollars I sent every month—money earned while I was dodging insurgent mortar fire—to buy designer handbags and botox, while you forced my child to drug eight-month-old infants in a garage filled with carbon monoxide hazards.""
""You can't prove that!"" she snarled.
""I have your floral notebook,"" I replied calmly. ""I have every single entry written in your hand. I have the receipts, the wire transfer logs, and the statements from five other parents whose children tested positive for sedatives today at the hospital. Tomorrow morning, CID is transferring their findings to the District Attorney's office. They are charging you with multiple counts of first-degree child abuse, felony exploitation, fraud, and practicing unlicensed care resulting in great bodily harm.""
There was a sudden, choked silence on the other end of the line. The reality of her situation was finally crashing through her narcissistic wall of denial.
""Toni... please,"" she suddenly whimpered, switching gears into pathetic begging. ""We're sisters. Blood is thicker than water. Mom and Dad wouldn't want this... please don't let me go to prison.""
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""Mom and Dad taught us honor and integrity,"" I told her. ""You threw that away the second you put a poison bottle in my son's hand. Do not call this number again. The next time you see me, I will be sitting on the witness stand.""
I hung up the phone and blocked the correctional facility's outgoing trunk line.
