Chapter 3 - Public Court
I grabbed the phone from Ethan’s hand and watched my younger sister put on the performance of a lifetime.
Claire sat in front of a ring light, her blonde hair perfectly tousled to look distressed, dabbing at her dry eyes with a tissue.
"My older sister, Nora, has always been deeply unwell," Claire told the camera, her voice breaking with practiced emotion.
"We tried to get her psychiatric help for years, but instead, she cut us off and married a manipulative man who isolates her."
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.
"Now, through some legal loophole, she is trying to steal our family business and throw my elderly parents out on the street," Claire sobbed.
The comments were flooding in by the thousands, filled with strangers calling me a monster, a sociopath, and a gold digger.
"She is setting the stage for a competency hearing," I realized aloud, the legal strategy clicking into place.
"They know they cannot legally bypass my fifty-one percent ownership."
"So they are going to argue to a judge that I am mentally unfit to manage the trust, making my father the default conservator."
Ethan paced the living room, his brilliant engineering mind calculating the variables.
"If they prove you are incompetent, they get the signatures, they get the Vanguard money, and they silence you forever," he said.
My phone began to vibrate violently with back-to-back calls from unknown numbers, reporters, and angry distant relatives.
Then, a text message arrived from the senior managing partner at my corporate law firm.
It read: "Nora, we need to see you in the conference room immediately regarding this public relations nightmare."
I had worked tirelessly for three years to build a spotless reputation at one of the city's most prestigious firms.
Claire's little social media stunt was designed to destroy my career before I could even fight back.
I quickly changed into my sharpest navy blue power suit and tied my hair back into a severe bun.
"Where are you going?" Ethan asked, grabbing his car keys to join me.
"I am going to work," I stated, picking up my leather briefcase.
"If my family wants to play dirty in the court of public opinion, I am going to formally retain my firm to represent the Blackridge Trust."
When we arrived at the sleek glass building, the receptionist looked at me with wide, scandalized eyes.
I ignored her and marched directly into the glass-walled executive conference room.
My three senior partners were already sitting there, looking exceptionally grim.
But they were not alone in the room.
Sitting at the head of the long mahogany table was a man I had never seen before in person, though I recognized his arrogant posture.
He wore a custom Italian suit and smiled at me like a shark smelling blood in the water.
"Nora Mercer," the man said, standing up and buttoning his jacket.
"I am Marcus Vance, CEO of Vanguard Enterprises."
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He pulled a thick, highly classified patent file out of his briefcase and tossed it onto the table.
"I believe I have something that rightfully belongs to your husband, and I am willing to trade it for your signature."
