My husband’s mistress pushed me down twenty-two marble stairs while I was eight months pregnant, then leaned over the railing and whispered, "Oops."

The next forty-eight hours were a blur of medical evaluations, legal consultations, and terrifying reality checks.

Meredith’s physical injuries were severe. Beyond the broken wrist and dislocated shoulder, she had suffered two cracked ribs and a moderate concussion. But miraculously, the thick amniotic fluid and the angle of her fall had protected her baby girl. The doctors warned, however, that the severe physical trauma had put her into early labor signs. She was placed on strict bed rest at St. Jude’s under high-security watch.

As Meredith predicted, Preston was released on a two-million-dollar bond early the next morning. Sloan, facing primary charges of aggravated assault and attempted murder, was held longer, but her wealthy family eventually posted her bail as well.

Sitting in Meredith’s hospital room on Wednesday afternoon was Eleanor Vance—a formidable, silver-haired family and criminal law attorney whom Harper had contacted. Eleanor was known in the city as "The Sledgehammer," a lawyer who specialized in dismantling corrupt high-net-worth men.

"Here is where we stand, Meredith," Eleanor said, laying out a thick series of folders on the rolling bedside tray. "Preston’s defense team is already spinning the narrative. They are claiming the audio on the nanny cam was manipulated by an outside third party. They’re filing motions to suppress the video evidence on the grounds of illegal wiretapping, claiming the nursery camera violated Sloan’s privacy."

Meredith let out a cold, breathless laugh. "Privacy? She shoved me down a flight of stairs in my own home."

"I know," Eleanor said gently. "It’s a desperate strategy, but Preston’s legal team is led by Arthur Sterling—he’s slimy, relentless, and very good at buying expert witnesses. Furthermore, Preston has already initiated emergency corporate proceedings to freeze your joint bank accounts, claiming you are mentally unfit to handle finances."

Harper stood up from her chair, furious. "He tried to kill her and her baby, and now he’s trying to starve her out?!"

"It’s standard corporate war tactics," Eleanor explained calmly. "He wants to exhaust Meredith’s resources so she’s forced to accept a quiet settlement, drop the criminal charges, and sign a non-disclosure agreement."

Meredith sat up in bed, ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs. "He forgot one thing, Eleanor."

"What’s that?"

"Ashford Investments isn't his. It was my father’s."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"When my father died seven years ago," Meredith continued, her memory sharpening through the haze of pain medication, "he left forty-nine percent of the company’s voting shares directly to me in a private trust. Preston only controls forty percent through his family's original seed capital. The remaining eleven percent is held by the executive board."

Meredith looked at her attorney with absolute focus.

"Preston built his entire career on the illusion that he owns Ashford Investments. If the board realizes he is facing attempted murder charges AND that I hold the controlling block of trust shares, they will force him out to save the stock price."

"Do you have access to the trust documents?" Eleanor asked, her eyes lighting up.

"They’re in a fireproof safe in the library at Ashford Manor," Meredith said. "Along with my mother’s jewelry and the original deeds to the estate."

"Going back to that house is dangerous," Harper warned. "Preston is staying there while out on bail."

"He won't be there tomorrow morning," Meredith said, a faint, calculating smile appearing on her face. "Tomorrow at ten AM is his mandatory arraignment hearing at the county courthouse. He has to be there in person."