That very afternoon, Victoria, Natalie, and two hired hands arrived at the main security gate of our private residential enclave, holding handwritten cardboard signs.

“RETURN OUR GRANDSON.”

“WEALTH CANNOT MARGINALIZE FAMILY VALUES.”

“JUSTICE FOR DOMINIC.”

They shouted into the intercom for nearly forty minutes, hurling vitriol at the estate guards and blocking incoming residents. Natalie physically shoved a neighbor who was trying to navigate past the gate, screaming, “I bet you’re completely complicit with that heartless woman too!”

Every second of the display was immaculately preserved. High-definition perimeter cameras, neighbors’ personal devices, and a professional-grade camera operated by a private investigator my father had deployed.