“You used a keylogger,” Wyatt said, his voice remarkably calm.

“You copied my security credentials when I stayed here last month.”

“We did no such thing,” my father snapped. “The metadata doesn’t lie, Wyatt. You’re going to prison.”

Harper picked up the top sheet of paper, her face unreadable.

“This document is dated three days ago,” Harper noted.

“Exactly,” my mother said. “The night of the attack. He forced her to sign, then tried to kill her.”

“There’s only one problem with your timeline, Mrs. Davis,” Harper said.

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a manila folder of her own.

“I have six signed witness statements from the warehouse district,” Harper said.

“Including one from Arthur Bennett, the building owner who saw the entire assault.”

My father’s jaw dropped slightly.

He looked at my mother, his confidence wavering.

“Arthur Bennett is a senile old man,” my father said quickly.

“He can’t prove anything.”

“He identified your vehicle at the scene, Mr. Davis,” Harper said.

“And he saw you standing over your daughter while she was unconscious.”

Melanie set her glass down on the window sill with a loud clatter.