Chapter 6
The lawsuit was filed the next morning.
Sarah didn’t waste any time.
We sued Helen Carter for:
One—Undue influence and coercion in the execution of the power of attorney.
Two—Conversion and misappropriation of funds.
Three—Civil assault and battery against our minor son.
Four—Intentional infliction of emotional distress.
The total damages we asked for: ten million dollars.
Not because we needed the money.
But because I wanted to hit Helen where it hurt most.
Her pride.
Her wallet.
Her sense of entitlement.
The papers were served to her at the budget motel she’d been staying at. Marcus sent me a photo from the process server. Helen standing in the doorway in a ratty bathrobe, her hair in curlers, screaming as the papers were pressed into her hands.
I deleted the photo after I looked at it.
I didn’t want to gloat.
I just wanted it over.
But Helen wasn’t going down without a fight.
Three days after she was served, the first article hit the tabloids.
It was on the front page of the city’s biggest gossip site.
The headline screamed:
ICE QUEEN CEO LOCKS IN-LAWS OUT OF OWN HOME, ABANDONS SICK MOTHER-IN-LAW TO THE STREETS!
I read it while I was eating breakfast.
The article was full of lies.
It said I’d married David for his family’s name and money.
It said I’d worked my way into the company, stolen it right out from under the original owners, and then tossed David aside once I had control.
It said I’d worked Helen to the bone for six months—making her cook, clean, and care for Leo twenty-four hours a day with no help, no rest, no pay—then thrown her out into the street with nothing but the clothes on her back when she got too tired to keep up.
It said I was a cold, unfeeling monster who cared more about spreadsheets than people.
And the worst part?
It had a quote from Helen.
“I loved that woman like a daughter,” the quote said. “I gave her everything. I helped her raise her child when she was too busy jet-setting around the world to be a mother. And this is how she repays me? I’m sixty-eight years old. I have high blood pressure. I have arthritis. I’m sleeping in a motel room because my own daughter-in-law stole my house and my grandson. I just want my family back. I just want to go home.”
There was a photo of her next to the quote.
She was sitting on a park bench. Wearing a worn-out coat. Holding a crumpled tissue. Her eyes were red. She looked frail. Broken.
The picture of innocence.
I threw the tablet down on the table.
“Bitch,” I muttered.
David came in from the garage. He’d been working out. He was sweating, in a tank top and shorts.
He saw my face.
“What is it?” he said.
I nodded at the tablet.
“Your mother,” I said. “She’s playing the victim. And the tabloids are eating it up.”
He picked up the tablet.
He read the article.
His face got darker and darker with every line.
When he finished, he threw the tablet down harder than I had.
It skittered across the table and nearly fell off the edge.
“That lying, manipulative—” He cut off, grinding his teeth. “I grew up with this. This is what she does. When she’s caught red-handed, she twists it. She makes herself the martyr. And everyone believes her. Everyone always believes her.”
“Not this time,” I said.
I stood up.
I walked to the window.
Outside, Leo was playing in the backyard with his new babysitter—a nice college student named Mia who’d passed three background checks and had glowing references. He was chasing the dog around the oak tree, laughing.
No bruise.
No fear.
Just a happy little boy.
“We have the security footage,” I said. “We have the medical records. We have the witnesses—all twenty guests at the party, even if they don’t want to talk. We have the paper trail on the money. She can tell all the lies she wants. The truth is on our side.”
“The truth doesn’t matter in the court of public opinion,” David said. He ran a hand through his hair. “You know how this works. The lie goes halfway around the world before the truth gets its shoes on. By the time we prove she’s lying, the damage to your company’s reputation will already be done.”
He was right.
My company was built on trust.
We managed money for families. For widows. For children’s college funds. For people who needed to know their life savings were in safe, caring hands.
If the public believed I was the Ice Queen from the articles…
Clients would leave.
Contracts would be canceled.
The company I’d spent ten years building could crumble.
And that was exactly what Helen wanted.
She didn’t care about the money.
She cared about destroying me.
“Then we fight fire with fire,” I said.
I turned to David.
“Call Sarah,” I said. “Tell her to prepare a statement. Full, unredacted. We release the security footage. The whole thing. Uncut. From the moment Leo spills the juice to the moment I walk in the door. We post it everywhere. Every news site. Every social media platform. We let the public see exactly what kind of woman your mother really is.”
David hesitated.
“Leo is in that footage,” he said. “Everyone will see him get hit. Everyone will see him crying. Is that… is that fair to him?”
I thought about it.
I looked out the window at our son.
He was spinning in circles now, arms out, pretending he was an airplane.
“We blur his face,” I said. “We edit out anything that would be traumatic for him to see later. But the audio stays. The part where she says someone has to parent him because his mother is never around. The part where she justifies hitting him over a carpet stain. The world needs to hear that.”
David nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
May you like
An hour later, the footage went live.
And the internet exploded.
