Chapter 3 - The Morning Aftermath
By 8:00 AM the next morning, my legal counsel was sitting across from my kitchen island. Marcus Vance, a bulldog of an attorney who specialized in corporate asset protection and predatory domestic entrapment, adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses and stared at the digital logs I had exported.
“Ms. Reynolds, this goes far beyond a standard broken engagement,” Marcus said, his voice grave. “Holding you against your will, demanding financial access under duress, and physical assault resulting in a potential threat to an unborn child—that’s kidnapping, extortion, and assault. We can have local warrants issued before lunch.”
I took a slow sip of my black coffee, looking down at my flat stomach. The baby had been quiet all morning, though every muscle in my back still ached from where Margaret had thrown me against the drywall.
“Not yet, Marcus,” I replied smoothly. “Warrants are too quiet. They deserve a public reckoning.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Ethan has a pitch meeting this afternoon at the Bank of America Corporate Center,” I said, sliding a printed schedule across the marble counter. “He’s trying to secure a last-minute bridge loan of five hundred thousand dollars to keep NextGen from folding. Without that cash, his company goes into immediate liquidation, and his primary investors—who happen to be Margaret’s high-society bridge club friends—will lose every cent they poured into his vanity project.”
Marcus’s lips twitched into a slow, appreciative smile. “And you want front-row seats?”
“No,” I said, standing up and grabbing my blazer. “I want to be the one holding the microphone.”
Thirty minutes later, my black SUV slid into the subterranean parking garage of the corporate tower. As I stepped out into the crisp morning air, my phone vibrated incessantly. Text messages from Ethan had transitioned from furious threats to pathetic begging.
May you like
“Ava, please. Mom is beside herself. The investors are pulling out. If this deal doesn't go through, I’m ruined. We can talk about the wedding, we can downsize, just please turn the servers back on!”
I didn't even read them. I archived the thread, slipped my sunglasses over my eyes, and walked through the gleaming glass doors into the lobby. The trap was set, and the executioners were about to walk right into it.
