“Blank records mean classified operations, Mr. Vance,” I said calmly. “And while my parents provided a luxury estate, they forgot to provide themselves.”
I opened a weatherproof tactical pouch on my vest and pulled out a ruggedized, encrypted tablet. I handed it to the bailiff to pass to the judge.
“Over the last three years, while I was deployed in hostile territories, my satellite phone was the only thing raising Toby,” I stated, looking directly at my parents, whose smirks were rapidly fading. “On October 14th, Toby called me crying because he had been left alone in that giant house for six straight days without food or money while my parents were vacationing in Cabo. On February 22nd, Toby fell from a tree and broke his radius. He had to beg a neighbor to drive him to the ER because his mother was passed out drunk and his father was at a golf resort.”
“That’s a lie!” my mother shrieked, slamming her purse onto the table. “We are prominent citizens! We provide everything for him!”
“You provide neglect,” I countered, my voice cutting through her screech. “I have the satellite call logs, the neighbor’s sworn affidavits, and the medical bills I paid remotely from an active combat zone in Syria.”
Vance quickly intercepted, trying to salvage his case. “This is hearsay and cyber-fabricated nonsense! Your Honor, we cannot give custody of a minor to a low-level field grunt who thinks she’s Rambo. Look at her! She’s playing dress-up with surplus gear to intimidate this court!”
