Chapter 7 - Driving Toward Chestnut Hill Estate
The drive down Route 9 toward the Chestnut Hill estate was heavy with a suffocating, oppressive silence inside the car.
Meredith sat in the passenger seat crossing her arms tightly, muttering under her breath about my impulsive self-destruction.
In the back seat, Chloe rested her head against the window, looking out at the passing Boston suburbs with quiet courage.
“Dad, are the police going to talk to Grandpa?” Chloe asked softly from behind us.
“Yes, sweetheart. People who hurt children don't get to hide behind fancy titles anymore,” I answered in the rearview mirror.
Meredith scoffed loudly, turning her head back to glare at me with undisguised contempt.
“You are making a massive mistake, Harrison. Your father is a retired judge; he knows every prosecutor in Middlesex County,” she warned.
“Then he can explain his fingerprint bruises to a federal grand jury instead of local municipal judges,” I shot back without blinking.
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The iron gates of the Chestnut Hill estate loomed ahead through the misty morning air, guarded by stone lions and security cameras.
As my car approached, the automated gates swung open, programmed to welcome family members without hesitation.
