Chapter 2 - The Document in the Attachment
The PDF attachment glowing on Aunt Rose’s phone screen wasn't just a sentimental letter or a casual photo. It was a formal, legally binding post-nuptial financial settlement agreement, drafted by a high-priced corporate law firm downtown, complete with notarized signatures.
Or, rather, a notarized signature.
Mine.
I stared at the screen, my eyes tracing the flowing cursive at the bottom of the digital document. It was a flawless, terrifyingly accurate forgery of my signature. According to the multi-page contract, I had voluntarily agreed to waive all claims to Nathan’s marketing firm, our primary suburban home, our shared investment accounts, and corporate vehicles in exchange for a meager, one-time lump-sum payout of ten thousand dollars.
Ten thousand dollars. For twelve years of building a multi-million-dollar agency from our apartment kitchen table.
“He... he told the family that I had already signed this?” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. “He told them I agreed to walk away with nothing because of my ‘emotional instability’?”
“That’s why he sent it to everyone,” Aunt Rose said, her voice shaking with righteous fury. “He wanted the whole family to be witnesses to your ‘voluntary’ agreement. If you made a scene today, he planned to tell everyone you were just violating a contract you had already legally executed.”
A dark, dangerous clarity washed over me. Nathan hadn't just cheated on me; he had systematically orchestrated an economic execution. He had used my absence during a three-day business trip to forge my signature, paid off a corrupt mobile notary public, and then weaponized my own family as a psychological guardrail to ensure I had nowhere to turn.
“He thinks he’s bulletproof,” I murmured, handing Aunt Rose back her phone.
“What are you going to do, honey? Do you want me to kick him out right now? Leo and your uncles can take care of him—”
“No,” I interrupted firmly, a cold smile touching the corners of my lips. “If we throw him out now, he controls the narrative. He wants a dramatic, weeping ex-wife so he can play the victim. I’m not going to give him that show.”
“Then what do you want to do?”
I looked back out the kitchen window. Nathan was casually tossing a football with my teenage cousin, laughing as if nothing in the world could ever touch him.
“I want you to go back outside, act completely normal, and be extra sweet to Brittany,” I told Aunt Rose. “Let them think their plan is working to absolute perfection. Meanwhile, I need to make a phone call.”
Ten minutes later, locked inside my parents’ upstairs guest bathroom, I dialed the direct office number of a woman named Victoria Vance—a senior partner at Vance & Sterling, arguably the most ruthless civil litigation and asset-recovery firm in the state.
Victoria didn't do standard family law; she specialized in white-collar corporate fraud, forensic asset tracing, and destroying executives who thought they could hide millions in shell companies during messy divorces.
“Vance & Sterling, how may I direct your call?” a crisp voice answered.
“This is Mara Collins,” I said, my voice cutting through the speaker with razor-sharp precision. “I need an emergency corporate injunction, a forensic audit of my husband’s marketing agency, and a team of process servers stationed near Columbus by four o’clock this afternoon. My husband thinks he’s divorcing me with ten thousand dollars. I’m about to show him what happens when you steal a shark’s ocean.”
There was a brief pause on the line, followed by the sound of a keyboard clacking. Then, Victoria’s tone shifted from polite receptionist to lethal professional.
May you like
“Mrs. Collins,” Victoria said, a subtle note of professional delight in her voice. “How soon do you need him dismantled?”
“Before dinner,” I replied.
