PART 1: THE 2:47 AM CALL

Chapter 1: The Ring in the Night

The landline in my bedroom rang. A piercing sound, tearing through the silence of my historic mansion on Beacon Hill.

I glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. The glowing red numbers read: 2:47 AM.

At seventy, as a retired Federal Judge, I knew no good news ever arrived at this hour. Calls near 3 AM brought only three things: Death, accidents, or incarceration.

I picked up the receiver, my hand—aged but still adorned with a large jade ring—tightening around the handle.

“Margaret Sterling speaking,” my voice was hoarse but steely, a reflex honed by forty years on the bench.

“Grandma…”

A choked sob echoed from the other end of the line. My heart tightened. It was Ethan. My poor sixteen-year-old grandson.

“Ethan? Where are you?” I sat up instantly, sleep vanishing.

“I’m at the Precinct 4 police station… Grandma, please come save me,” the boy sobbed, the cry of absolute injustice. “My stepmom… Linda… she said I pushed her down the stairs. Dad believes her. He’s screaming at me… He doesn’t believe me, Grandma!”

“Calm down, Ethan,” I ordered, my voice turning cold and sharp as a scalpel. “Do not say another word to the police. Do not sign anything. I will be there in fifteen minutes. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am… Please hurry…”

I hung up. For the next ten seconds, I did not panic. I called my private chauffeur, Arthur, who lived in the carriage house. Then, I swapped my silk pajamas for a perfectly tailored black suit, smoothed back my silver hair into a high bun, and applied a layer of dark red lipstick.

When I walked out the door, Arthur was already waiting by the gleaming black Bentley.

“Precinct 4, Arthur. And run red lights if necessary,” I said as I stepped into the car.

Outside, snow began to fall. White flakes swirled chaotic in the yellow streetlights, like the lies currently engulfing my son’s family.

Chapter 2: Confrontation at the Precinct

The Precinct 4 station reeked of cheap coffee, cold cigarette smoke, and despair.

As I entered, the sharp click of my heels on the old ceramic tiles drew the attention of the duty officer. He opened his mouth to question me, but upon seeing my demeanor, he swallowed his words and simply nodded.

I saw them.

In the corner, my son, Robert, was pacing back and forth, looking furious and disheveled. Sitting on a bench was Linda, his second wife, fifteen years his junior. Her arm was bandaged and in a sling against her chest; her beautiful face was tear-stained, but her eyes were dry and alert as she looked around.

And in the glass-walled holding room, Ethan sat huddled, head buried in his knees.

“Mother?” Robert saw me, his expression shifting from anger to confusion. “Why are you here? Did Ethan call you? That little brat…”

“Shut your mouth, Robert,” I said, not bothering to look at him, walking straight to the duty desk.

“Ma’am, you can’t enter this area…” a young officer blocked my path.

“I am Margaret Sterling. I am here to represent my grandson, Ethan Sterling. And I wish to speak with Lieutenant Miller. Immediately.”

The names Sterling and Miller had an instant effect. Lieutenant Miller, a middle-aged man with a stern face, stepped out of his office. He had testified in many cases I presided over.

“Judge Sterling,” Miller nodded respectfully, signaling the young officer to stand down. “I didn’t expect to see you under these circumstances.”

“Where is my grandson, Miller? Why is he sitting in there?”

“Charges of aggravated domestic assault, ma’am,” Miller said quietly. “Ms. Linda claims Ethan pushed her from the top of the stairs after an argument. Robert confirms he heard a scream and saw Ethan standing at the top of the landing.”

I turned to look at Robert and Linda. Robert avoided my gaze, while Linda sniffled louder.

“Mrs. Sterling,” Linda said, her voice trembling. “I know you love Ethan, but the boy… he’s getting more violent. I just wanted what was best for him, to encourage him to study, and yet he…”

“You, be quiet,” I said softly, but with enough weight to silence her instantly. I turned to Miller. “I want to post bail for the boy.”

“Robert is insisting on pressing charges,” Miller sighed. “He says he needs to teach his son a lesson.”

Anger flared within me. My son, a weak and spineless man, had always been controlled by women. First by me, and now by this vixen. He was willing to send his own flesh and blood to juvenile detention just to please his new wife.

“Let me see Ethan,” I demanded.

Miller opened the glass door. Ethan looked up. His eyes were red and swollen. Seeing me, he rushed over and hugged me tight, the smell of sweat and fear radiating from him.

“Grandma, I didn’t do it. She fell on her own! She stood there laughing and then rolled down herself!” Ethan sobbed.

I stroked his hair, feeling his tremors. “I believe you, Ethan. I believe you.”

I walked out of the room, holding Ethan’s hand. Robert rushed over to block our path.

“You can’t take him! He’s dangerous! You’re spoiling him!” Robert shouted. “My wife’s arm is broken! Do you see that?”

“Broken arm?” I raised an eyebrow, looking at Linda’s bandaged limb. “Is there an X-ray?”

“The ambulance paramedics did first aid, they said there’s a likely fracture. We planned to go to the hospital right after dealing with this delinquent,” Linda replied quickly.

Just then, something unexpected happened.

The station doors swung open. Another police officer entered, holding a tablet and a memory card. He walked straight to Lieutenant Miller, whispered something in his ear, and presented the tablet.

Miller’s expression changed. He frowned, staring at the screen, then looked up at Linda with a completely different gaze.

Miller walked over to us.

“Mr. Robert, Ms. Linda,” Miller’s voice was cold. “We just received data extracted from a security camera.”

“Camera?” Linda went pale. “But… the house cameras have been broken since last week! Robert called the repairman but he hasn’t come yet!”

Robert nodded vigorously. “That’s right, the security system is under maintenance.”

“Not your house camera,” Miller smirked, a smile devoid of warmth. “It’s the dashcam of the neighbor’s Tesla parked directly opposite your living room window. You have large glass windows, and the curtains were open.”

I felt Ethan’s hand squeeze mine tight.

Miller held up the tablet. In the black-and-white but crisp video, through the brightly lit large window, the scene on the staircase was clearly visible.

Linda was standing on the third step from the bottom. She was arguing with Ethan, who stood at the top of the stairs. Then, Ethan turned and walked away towards his room.

Once Ethan was out of sight, Linda… she sat herself down on the step, took off her high heel, and slammed it hard against the wooden banister to create a loud noise. Then, she threw herself onto the floor, rolling around and starting to scream hysterically.

She didn’t fall from the top. She staged the act right at the bottom of the stairs.

The entire precinct went silent.

I turned to look at Linda. Her face was now as white as a sheet, mouth agape, unable to utter a word. Her “broken” arm suddenly hung limp at her side, forgetting the need to feign pain.

I looked at Robert. My son stood frozen, eyes glued to the screen, stammering: “But… but you told me you were in so much pain? You said you heard the bone snap?”

“Robert, listen to me…” Linda rushed to grab her husband’s hand, but Robert recoiled as if he had touched fire.

“Enough,” I spoke up, my voice booming like a gavel striking the sound block.

I stepped up to Robert, raised my hand, and delivered a thunderous slap across his face.

SLAP!

The sound echoed through the station.

“That slap is for Ethan,” I said, looking straight into the eyes of my spineless son. “You believed a third-rate actress over your own flesh and blood. You do not deserve to be a father.”

Then, I turned to Miller.

“Lieutenant, I wish to file a complaint against Ms. Linda here for defamation and filing a false report. And I want an emergency restraining order to protect my grandson from these two.”

“With pleasure, Judge,” Miller nodded. “Ms. Linda, please follow me to the interrogation room. We need to talk about your ‘broken’ arm.”

I gripped Ethan’s hand, pulling him out of that gloomy place.

“Let’s go, darling. We’re going home.”

But I knew the war had only just begun. Linda wasn’t the type to give up easily, and my son’s stupidity ran deeper than I thought.

PART 2: GHOSTS OF THE PAST

Chapter 3: The Room of Secrets

I brought Ethan back to my mansion on Beacon Hill as the clock struck 4 AM. The boy was exhausted, falling asleep right in the back seat of the Bentley. Arthur carried him up to the guest room, as gently as if he were carrying a three-year-old.

I didn’t sleep. I sat in my study, pouring myself a glass of strong Brandy. Outside, the blizzard had abated, but inside me, a storm was just beginning to brew.

The incident at the police station was a victory, but it also opened a deep wound. Robert wouldn’t let this go. And Linda, that woman, would certainly find a way to counterattack. She was carrying Robert’s child – an ace she hadn’t yet played.

The next morning, my private attorney, James, arrived carrying a thick file.

“Mrs. Sterling,” James placed the file on the desk. “We have a problem. Linda has been bailed out. Robert paid the bond. And worse, she is countersuing you for child abduction and inflicting emotional distress.”

“Ridiculous,” I scoffed. “Who does she think she is?”

“She is the legal wife of the child’s father, and Robert still has primary custody. The video from last night proves she lied about the fall, but it doesn’t immediately strip her of her stepparent rights. She is using ‘psychological distress due to pregnancy’ as a defense for her actions.”

I gripped my tea cup tight. “Pregnancy? Is she really pregnant?”

“Yes, 12 weeks. Robert is back to protecting her. He claims she was stressed because Ethan was too rebellious, leading to a foolish action. He wants to take Ethan back.”

“Never,” I slammed my hand on the table. “I will not hand my grandson over to that snake pit again.”

Just then, Ethan walked into the study. He had showered, but dark circles still ringed his eyes. He had heard the conversation.

“Grandma, I won’t go back there,” Ethan said, his voice trembling. “Dad… Dad hit me before the police arrived. He slapped me, called me a murderer like Mom.”

I was stunned. “Like Mom? Your father said that?”

Ethan’s biological mother, my first daughter-in-law, Sarah, had died in a car accident five years ago. Robert was the driver. He survived, Sarah did not. Robert always carried guilt, but I never imagined he would project that hatred onto his son.

“Yes,” Ethan bowed his head. “Every time Dad gets drunk, or every time Aunt Linda whispers something in his ear, he looks at me as if I was the one who killed Mom.”

I realized I had been too negligent. After my husband died, I had buried myself in grief and work, leaving Robert to deal with his pain alone. And Linda had slithered into that void, turning my son into a puppet and my grandson into a punching bag.

“Ethan,” I called him closer. “Do you remember your mother had a small safe deposit box at the bank? The one she said was only for you when you turned 18?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We need to open it sooner. I have a feeling there is something inside we need.”

Chapter 4: The Forgotten Diary

With my influence and old connections, I obtained a court order to open Sarah’s safe box as Ethan’s temporary guardian.

Inside that cold metal box, there was no jewelry or money. Only a USB drive and an old leather-bound diary.

We brought it home. James, Ethan, and I sat around the round table.

James plugged the USB into the computer. A series of audio files appeared.

The first file, dated May 12, 2018 – two months before Sarah died.

“Robert came home drunk again. He talked about the new secretary, Linda. He said she understands him better than I do. I’m scared… I’m scared he’s going to do something foolish. Linda texted me, she said I should ‘be smart’ and step aside…”

My daughter-in-law’s gentle voice filled the room, making Ethan burst into tears.

The next file, the fateful day.

“Linda called. She said she’s pregnant. Robert wants a divorce. We are arguing in the car… Robert is driving very fast… He’s listening to her call… Robert! Look out!!!”

The screech of tires was deafening. The horrific crash. And then, dead silence.

I was appalled. The police had concluded the accident was due to slippery roads and loss of control. But this recording – automatically saved from the personal black box app Sarah had installed on her phone – revealed a different truth. Robert was distracted because of Linda. And Linda knew Robert was with his family but deliberately sabotaged them, even provoking the tragedy.

“Dad… Dad lied,” Ethan whispered. “He said Mom grabbed the steering wheel.”

I flipped through the diary. The last pages were covered in Sarah’s hurried handwriting. She had hired a private investigator to look into Linda.

Linda was not her real name. Her real name was Monica Lewinski (no, a different name, Monica Vane). A notorious gold digger on the West Coast. She had been married twice, and both husbands had gone bankrupt or died mysteriously. She targeted Robert for the Sterling family fortune.

“James,” I said, my voice ice cold. “Investigate the name Monica Vane immediately. And find me the medical records regarding her current pregnancy.”

“What do you suspect?” James asked.

“If a person lies about falling down stairs, lies about their identity, would they tell the truth about a pregnancy?”

Chapter 5: The Media War

While James investigated, Linda made the first move.

The next morning, the front pages of the tabloids simultaneously ran the headline: “Former Judge Sterling Uses Power to Steal Grandson, Conceals Grandson’s Violent Behavior.”

Linda appeared on TV with her arm bandaged (this time in a stark white cast), weeping about being abused by a “rebellious stepson” and oppressed by a powerful mother-in-law. Robert sat beside her, holding her hand, looking gaunt and spineless, nodding to confirm her every word.

Public opinion began to turn against me and Ethan. Protesters gathered at the gates of my mansion, holding signs saying “Justice for the Stepmother.”

Ethan was too scared to leave the house. He read the malicious comments online: “That kid is a demon,” “He killed his stepmom like his dad killed his mom.”

I turned off the TV. I wasn’t afraid of public opinion. I was only afraid the truth wouldn’t arrive in time.

“Grandma, maybe I should go back and apologize?” Ethan asked, tears in his eyes. “I don’t want you to be insulted.”

“Never bow to evil, Ethan,” I gripped his shoulder. “We won’t play the game of justifying ourselves in the press. We will play the game of the law.”

Just then, James called.

“Mrs. Sterling, I have the results from the private clinic where Linda is receiving prenatal care. And you won’t believe it.”

“Speak.”

“She is indeed pregnant. But…” James hesitated. “Based on fetal size and estimated conception date… the pregnancy is 16 weeks along. Not 12 weeks as she told Robert.”

I did the math. 16 weeks ago… Robert was on a business trip in Europe with me to handle a corporate merger. He was away for those entire 3 weeks.

So that child was not Robert’s.

“And there’s more,” James continued, his voice excited. “I found Monica Vane’s second ex-husband. He’s still alive, living in a shabby nursing home. He said Monica used the ‘falling down stairs’ trick to send him to jail for abuse and seize his assets.”

The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.

“Prepare the car, Arthur,” I said into the intercom. “We are going to the press conference Linda is holding.”

I looked at Ethan. “Get changed, grandson. Today, we unmask that demon before the whole world.”

PART 3: THE FINAL VERDICT

Chapter 6: The Feast of Lies

The Grand Boston Hotel, where Linda chose to hold her press conference “calling for support for victims of domestic violence,” was packed with reporters. She was smart, knowing how to use the media as both a shield and a weapon.

Robert sat there, like a soulless wooden puppet. He believed he was protecting his family, but in reality, he was merely a screen for Linda’s greed.

When the hall doors opened, flashbulbs erupted continuously. I walked in, back straight, head held high, holding Ethan’s hand. Arthur and James walked on either side like guardian deities.

“Judge Sterling! Do you have any comment on the allegations that you are harboring a criminal?” A reporter shouted.

Linda saw me, a flicker of panic crossing her face, but she quickly regained her “victim” mask. She held the microphone, voice trembling: “Mrs. Margaret… I beg you. I just want to bring Ethan home. Robert and I are ready to forgive the boy, as long as he agrees to undergo psychological treatment…”

“Excellent acting, Monica,” I said, my voice projecting across the hall without the need for a microphone.

The name “Monica” made Linda freeze. Her eyes widened.

“What are you talking about? My name is Linda…”

“Linda Vance? Or Monica Vane? Or Monica Geller from the insurance fraud case in Nevada in 2015?” James stepped up, connecting his tablet to the hall’s large screen.

On the screen appeared Monica Vane’s police record: mugshots, charges of fraud, faking accidents.

The entire hall gasped. Reporters began turning their cameras toward the screen.

“This is slander!” Linda screamed, standing up abruptly. “Robert! Kick her out!”

Robert looked confusedly at his wife, then at me. “Mom, what are you doing?”

“I’m saving your life, you fool,” I said, stepping onto the podium. “James, show everyone the second piece of evidence.”

The screen switched to a medical chart and a flight itinerary.

“This is Ms. Linda’s maternity record,” I pointed at the screen. “The fetus is 16 weeks and 4 days old. And this is Robert Sterling’s flight itinerary. At the time of conception, my son was in London with me. Unless Ms. Linda here is capable of asexual reproduction, or she slept with someone else.”

Robert’s face went from confused to pale, then bright red. He stared at Linda.

“Linda… 16 weeks? You told me 12 weeks?”

“I… the doctor miscalculated! The machine was wrong!” Linda stammered, backing away.

“And finally,” I delivered the killing blow. “The recording from Sarah’s car black box.”

Sarah’s voice rang out, haunting and painful, denouncing Linda’s interference (as the secretary back then) right before the accident happened.

Robert heard his ex-wife’s voice. He clutched his head, collapsing onto the table. He realized he hadn’t just been cheated on and deceived, but he had indirectly caused the death of his devoted wife by trusting the words of the other woman.

Linda knew she had lost. She looked around, seeking an escape route. But Arthur was already blocking the emergency exit.

“You’re not going anywhere, Monica,” I said. “Officer Miller is waiting outside. This time it’s not domestic violence, but fraud, grand theft, and involuntary manslaughter.”

Chapter 7: Too Late for Redemption

Linda – or Monica – was handcuffed and led away right in front of the lenses of dozens of reporters. That scene would be on tomorrow’s front page, but with a completely different headline.

In the emptying hall, only I, Ethan, and Robert remained.

Robert sat on the stage floor, weeping like a child. He didn’t dare look up at me, and certainly didn’t dare look at Ethan.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” Robert mumbled continuously.

Ethan stood there, looking at his father. In the boy’s eyes, there was no longer fear, but neither was there hatred. Only a vast sadness.

“You didn’t believe me,” Ethan whispered. “Even when I called you when I was most scared, you still chose to believe her.”

“I was wrong… I was blind… Ethan, forgive me…” Robert crawled forward, intending to grab his son’s leg.

I extended my cane, blocking Robert.

“Don’t touch him, Robert,” I said coldly. “Apologies cannot erase the scars you’ve inflicted on the boy. You need time to detox from your own stupidity. I am taking Ethan.”

“Where are you taking him?” Robert looked up, face drenched in tears.

“To a place where he is loved and believed. I will file for the revocation of your custody. If you really want to be his father, prove it by living like a decent human being first.”

I turned my back, leading Ethan out of the hotel. Outside, the snow had melted, giving way to brilliant sunshine.

Chapter 8: A New Beginning

One year later.

Ethan and I were sitting in the garden of the Beacon Hill mansion. The boy was reading a book, his expression much more relaxed and peaceful. He had grown taller, more muscular, and most importantly, the smile had returned to his lips.

Robert had sold the old house – the place filled with painful memories and lies. He moved into a smaller apartment, started therapy, and participated in charity work. Every weekend, he was allowed to visit Ethan under my supervision.

The relationship between father and son was still awkward, but at least Robert was trying. And Ethan, with the kind heart inherited from his mother, was learning to open up, albeit very slowly.

“Grandma,” Ethan closed the book. “Do you think Mom Sarah can see us?”

I looked up at the azure sky. “I believe so, darling. Your mother is always watching over you. And I think she would be very proud of the man you are becoming.”

My phone rang. It was Lieutenant Miller again.

“Judge Sterling, good news. Monica Vane has just been sentenced to 15 years in prison. No chance of early parole.”

“Thank you, Miller,” I smiled.

I hung up, placing my wrinkled hand over Ethan’s youthful one.

“Justice has been served, darling.”

Ethan smiled, squeezing my hand tight. “It’s not justice, Grandma. It’s you. You are my justice.”

I looked at my grandson, feeling a peace I had lost for so many years. I had once been a judge judging thousands of people, but the most important case of my life was the case of protecting this grandson. And that was my most successful verdict.

The sun set, casting a warm golden glow over the city. The cracks of the past might never fully heal, but at least, the light had finally been able to seep in, chasing away the darkness.

THE END