My father did not reply immediately.

He stared straight through the windshield at the falling snow, his jaw locked so tight the muscle in his cheek twitched.

On the dashboard, the phone continued to buzz and slide against the plastic console, the screen flashing the unknown number.

My father swiped the screen and put the call on speaker.

“Bennett,” he said.

“Colonel Bennett, this is Detective Miller,” a voice crackled through the truck’s speakers.

“We have the initial intake report from the hospital.”

“And?” my father asked, his military tone clipping the air.

“The physician noted deep ligatures on your daughter’s wrists,” Miller said.

“He signed off on clear signs of physical restraint, dehydration, and prolonged neglect.”

My father looked down at my hands, his eyes resting on the dark purple bruising around my wrists.

“We have more than that, Detective,” my father said.

“We have direct audio evidence of the coercion.”

“We have Ethan Parker on tape, agreeing to the physical abuse to secure Hannah’s life savings.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“Is the audio clear?” Miller asked.