Chapter 16 - The Lingering Sting
The golden afternoon light poured into the boardroom of Carter Media Group’s new high-rise office in downtown Chicago, illuminating the sleek glass desks and vibrant campaign mockups lining the walls. At thirty-two, I had built an enterprise that was not only profitable but respected across the entire state. Our focus had shifted heavily toward advocacy campaigns, healthcare access, and non-profit initiatives. Maya was thriving in her Montessori preschool, running through our lakefront garden with untamed joy, and Julian’s steady warmth had grounded my world in ways I once thought impossible.
Yet, peace is something that must be vigilantly defended when your past involves predators who refuse to accept defeat.
My executive assistant, Chloe, knocked gently on the frosted glass door, stepping inside with a look of hesitation. In her hands was a certified courier envelope marked with bright red priority stamps.
"Natalie, this came through general administrative delivery," Chloe said quietly, handing it to me. "It’s addressed to you personally, but the return sender is listed as a boutique legal consultancy in Springfield."
I took the envelope, feeling an instinctive tightening in my chest—an old reflex from the days when envelopes meant emergency motions, psychiatric evaluations, or threatening financial liens. I sliced it open. Inside was a formal cease-and-desist letter accompanied by a glossy draft of a manuscript proposal.
The title across the cover sheet read: Innocence Stolen: The Frame-Job That Destroyed a Silicon Valley Dream.
The author’s name was printed in bold, embossed lettering: Ashley Dupont.
A dry, bitter humor flickered in my throat. Ashley had finished her eighteen-month sentence for violating probation and criminal trespassing at the Lincoln Correctional Center six months prior. Apparently, rather than finding honest work or quietly fulfilling the state’s massive restitution order, she had teamed up with a bottom-feeding ghostwriter to market a tell-all memoir. The pitch claimed that I had used manipulated digital footage, corporate espionage, and high-priced legal connections to entrap Grant Miller and frame an innocent young junior associate.
The accompanying letter demanded two million dollars in an out-of-court settlement, threatening that if payment was not wired within fourteen business days, the ghostwriter would shop the tell-all to sensationalist tabloid publishing houses and launch an aggressive social media campaign targeting Carter Media Group’s major corporate clients.
"Blackmail dressed in legal stationery," I muttered under my breath.
I picked up my desk phone and speed-dialed Evelyn Ross. Within ten minutes, Evelyn arrived at my office, her sharp gaze sweeping over the draft pages as she flipped through the absurd allegations.
"She’s desperate, Natalie," Evelyn said, leaning back in her leather chair with a cold, calculated smirk. "The state Department of Revenue has been garnishing seventy-five percent of any legitimate income she makes to pay off the four-hundred-thousand-dollar restitution from the corporate fraud conviction. She can't hold a corporate job with a felony record, and her credit score is non-existent. She thinks that by threatening a public smear campaign against your expanding agency, you’ll cut a quick hush-money check just to make her disappear."
"I don't pay ransoms to people who hid my medication, Evelyn," I said, my voice steady, icy, and resolute. "Not a single penny. She spent eighteen months in prison and learned nothing about consequences."
"Then we won't give her a penny," Evelyn replied, pulling her iPad from her leather tote. "What she conveniently forgot is the binding non-disparagement and permanent confidentiality clause attached to her criminal plea agreement. Under section four of her Illinois state restitution agreement, any commercial monetization of her crimes or unauthorized public disclosure regarding the victims automatically triggers an immediate civil injunction and full restitution acceleration. Furthermore, attempting to demand two million dollars under the threat of releasing defamatory fabrications meets the statutory definition of felony extortion."
"Can we shut down the publisher before they even consider it?" I asked.
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"Better," Evelyn said, her eyes flashing with razor-sharp legal acumen. "We contact Marcus Vance at the State Attorney’s Office. We file an emergency civil restraining order against the ghostwriter and the boutique agency, freeze any advance disbursements, and let Marcus review this letter as an active violation of her post-release supervisory terms. Ashley Dupont wanted to tell a story. Let’s make sure she tells it to a judge."
I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the bustling streets below. Four years ago, an extortion attempt like this would have sent me into a spiral of sleepless nights and suffocating panic. But that fragile girl was gone. Ashley had dared me to prove it once before on my kitchen floor, and she was about to learn that the law doesn't forget a habitual swindler.
