Chapter 3 - Gathering the Armor
My first instinct was to save my son.
I picked up my phone and called Jackson.
It rang twice before going straight to voicemail.
My hands shook as I typed out a desperate text message.
"Jackson, please call me. Something terrible has happened. I need you."
The reply came less than a minute later.
But it wasn't from Jackson.
Natalie had answered from his phone.
"Don't bother him," she wrote. "He is preparing for his special day."
Then came a second message, dripping with venom.
"I highly suggest you stay home rather than appear at the wedding looking for sympathy. You’ll only embarrass him."
She had cut off my only line of communication to my son.
She was isolating me, orchestrating my absence so she could control the narrative.
I threw the phone onto the bed.
I needed reinforcements.
I dialed the one person in the world who loved me as fiercely as Frank did.
My older sister, Judith.
"Get over here right now," I told her, my voice steady but low. "And bring your attorney."
Two hours later, Judith’s car roared up my driveway.
She walked through my front door carrying a high-quality silver wig, a stunning navy designer dress, and enough furious strength for both of us.
When she saw my bald head, she didn't cry.
She simply hugged me tight and whispered, "We are going to war."
While I sat at my vanity, Judith helped me secure the wig.
It looked remarkably like my real hair, perhaps even a bit more regal.
I slipped into the navy dress.
It fit perfectly, hugging my frame and wrapping me in an armor of dark silk.
I applied my favorite red lipstick, a shade Frank always said made me look dangerous.
My attorney, Mr. Sterling, arrived shortly after.
I explained the situation to him in a few concise sentences.
I didn't need legal action against her assault just yet.
I needed something much more devastating.
I needed to secure the legacy.
"Get the paperwork ready," I instructed him. "Have my financial adviser on standby."
Mr. Sterling nodded, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and profound respect.
"It will be done, ma'am," he promised.
I looked at myself in the mirror one last time.
I was no longer the grieving widow or the overly accommodating mother-in-law.
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I was the matriarch of the Westbrook family.
And it was time to attend a wedding.
