Chapter 14 - The Counter-Strike PlanCatherine did not panic. Panic was for amateurs like Owen; calculation was for survivors like her.
She locked the wooden box inside her private office safe, grabbed her tailored blazer, and strode out of her office with ice running through her veins. She didn't call the police, and she didn't call the media. She called Marcus Vance, her brilliant lead legal counsel, instructing him to meet her within the hour at a secure, high-end law library in downtown Miami.
By two o'clock in the afternoon, Catherine and Marcus sat across from each other in a private oak-paneled study room, surrounded by leather-bound legal codes and federal statute books.
Marcus slid his glasses down his nose, staring intently at the photocopies Catherine had brought from the mysterious box.
“This is a masterclass in extortion,” Marcus muttered, shaking his head. “If Patricia releases these documents to the press, the public relations fallout will be catastrophic. Even if your father’s estate was legally cleared posthumously, the media won't care about nuances. They’ll paint your entire foundation as a fraudulent enterprise built on dirty money.”
“She’s betting that I’ll fold to protect my father’s memory,” Catherine said coldly, her eyes flashing with razor-sharp determination. “She thinks I’m the same compliant, quiet wife who used to pour tea for her senior advisers.”
“So, what’s our play?” Marcus asked, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the mahogany table. “We can’t file an immediate injunction without acknowledging we have the documents in our possession. If we try to suppress them legally, we risk blowing the whole thing wide open in a public court hearing.”
Catherine stood up, walking over to the tall arched window that overlooked the glittering Biscayne Bay. She stared out at the water, her mind racing through every possible legal loophole, every financial trail, and every weakness in Patricia Ashford’s desperate play.
“Patricia didn’t pull these files out of thin air,” Catherine reasoned aloud. “Our old storage unit at the Palm Beach facility was legally seized during the corporate bankruptcy liquidation six months ago. She must have bribed a liquidator to sneak into the archive and pull records that were supposed to be permanently sealed under federal privacy seals.”
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Marcus’s eyes widened. “Bribing a liquidator to tamper with sealed federal bankruptcy records? That’s a federal felony, Catherine. If we can prove she accessed those files illegally—”
“We don’t just prove it, Marcus,” Catherine interrupted, turning around with a chilling, victorious smile. “We trap her in the act of extortion.”
