Chapter 2 - The Art of the Counter-Attack
The silence in the room after they were dragged out was deafening, broken only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of Hazel, who was now resting safely on my chest. Sarah pulled up a chair beside my bed, her laptop already open and humming.
“Are you okay, Gen?” she asked gently, the shark-like demeanor she displayed moments ago replaced by genuine concern.
“My cheek hurts,” I admitted, tracing the faint red mark Eleanor’s hand had left. “But my mind has never been clearer. I want them ruined, Sarah. Everything they thought they were going to take from me, I want it stripped from them ten times over.”
Sarah smiled, a predatory gleam returning to her eyes. “I already started. The moment you called me and I heard what was happening, I initiated the emergency lockdown protocols on the family trust. Julian’s access to the company accounts, the personal joint accounts, and the credit cards has been suspended.”
“What about his physical access?” I asked, adjusting Hazel slightly. Despite the numbness in my legs, the warmth of my daughter gave me a fierce, protective energy.
“Security at the Vance Development headquarters has deactivated his keycard. The locks at your primary residence and the lake house are being changed by a locksmith as we speak. His belongings will be boxed up and shipped to a storage unit of his choosing. Until then, he has nothing but the clothes on his back and the mistress in his overcoat.”
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. For eleven years, I had built my life around Julian. I had made excuses for his mother’s passive-aggressive cruelty, believing his promises that we were a team. To realize that it was all a calculated long-con to steal my father’s legacy was a pill too bitter to swallow, but I refused to choke on it.
Over the next forty-eight hours, the true scope of Sarah’s counter-attack unfolded. Julian sent over fifty text messages, ranging from furious demands to pathetic apologies. I ignored them all, handing my phone to Sarah’s paralegal to catalog as evidence for the divorce proceedings.
By Tuesday morning, the financial freeze had taken its toll. Julian, unable to pay for a hotel because all his platinum cards were declined, had tried to move in with Victoria. But Victoria, realizing that Julian was no longer the golden goose who could buy her designer bags and fund her lavish lifestyle, had unceremoniously kicked him out. He was currently sleeping in the passenger seat of his leased Mercedes—a lease that Vance Development was legally recalling.
Meanwhile, Eleanor had been released on bail, but the conditions of her release prohibited her from coming within five hundred feet of me or Hazel. She was facing felony charges, exacerbated by the fact that she had struck a patient recovering from major surgery.
But I knew Julian wouldn't surrender this easily. He had spent a decade learning the ins and outs of my company. He knew the board members, the investors, and the loopholes. As I lay in my hospital bed, staring at my unmoving legs, I realized that taking his money wasn't enough. I had to secure my empire.
“Call Marcus,” I told Sarah on Wednesday afternoon, referring to my Chief Financial Officer. “I need a full, unannounced audit of every project Julian has overseen in the last three years. If he was bold enough to bring his mistress into my delivery room, he’s been bold enough to steal from me.”
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Sarah nodded, her fingers flying across her keyboard. “I’ll get the forensic accountants on it immediately. You focus on recovering. The doctor said your physical therapy starts tomorrow.”
I looked down at my legs, commanding my toes to wiggle. Nothing happened. A wave of despair threatened to pull me under, but then Hazel whimpered in her sleep, her tiny hand gripping my hospital gown. I couldn't be weak. Not for her, and certainly not for them. I would walk again, and I would walk right over Julian’s absolute ruin.
