Chapter 8 - Legal Warfare Begins
The legal battle escalated into a full-scale corporate war. With Marcus Vance spearheading the civil litigation and District Attorney Vance pressing criminal charges, my mother's defense team crumbled within forty-eight hours.
Diane's high-priced defense attorney, a slick corporate fixer named Harrison Sterling, tried to file an emergency injunction to unfreeze Diane's bank accounts, claiming she needed funds for basic living expenses while awaiting trial.
Judge Alistair, a stern federal magistrate known for zero tolerance on financial white-collar crimes, rejected the motion within five minutes.
'Counsel,' Judge Alistair said, his voice echoing through the packed courtroom, 'your client is accused of orchestrating interstate financial fraud, forging medical signatures, and intentionally endangering a postpartum woman and newborn infant by stripping their home of heat and necessities. The court will not unfreeze a single penny of contested funds.'
Harrison Sterling stammered at the podium. 'Your Honor, Mrs. Vance is a pillar of Chicago society! These are mere family disputes blown out of proportion—'
'This is felony grand larceny and elder trust manipulation,' Judge Alistair interrupted sharply. 'Motion denied. Trial date set for March 15th. Bail revoked due to extreme flight risk and offshore asset concealment.'
In the gallery, Diane glared at the bench with pure venom, her face flushed with humiliation. As bailiffs led her away in chains, she locked eyes with me for a fraction of a second. Her lips formed three silent words: *You will pay.*
I didn't blink. I didn't flinch. I simply nodded back.
Outside the courthouse, reporters swarmed us like bees around a hive. Microphones thrust into my face, camera flashes blinding us in the winter snow.
'Mr. Vance! Mr. Vance! Is it true your mother embezzled millions from your family estate?' shouted a reporter from the Chicago Tribune.
'Mr. Vance, how is your wife and newborn recovering after being left in a freezing apartment?' asked another.
I raised a hand, stepping in front of Emily to shield her and the baby from the chaotic mob.
'My family and I appreciate the privacy during this difficult time,' I spoke clearly into the wall of microphones. 'Justice is moving forward through the proper legal channels. My mother and sister chose greed and cruelty; now they must face accountability. Thank you.'
We ducked into our waiting black car and sped away toward our temporary sanctuary. But as we drove off, my phone buzzed in my coat pocket with an anonymous text message from an unknown number.
*You think you won, Ethan? Check your corporate email inbox.*
Frowning, I pulled out my laptop in the moving vehicle and opened my encrypted engineering firm inbox. An email sat at the top from an overseas IP address in Dubai.
Subject: *Your Project is Compromised.*
May you like
I opened it. Inside was a PDF attachment detailing sabotage allegations against my hospital construction project in Dubai—allegations forged under my own name, claiming I took million-dollar kickbacks from local contractors.
My blood ran cold. The war wasn't just local anymore. Someone was trying to destroy my career across the globe.
