Chapter 5 - Behind Closed Doors
While the legal storm gathered around him, Trevor Vance was pacing his quiet, empty living room, nursing a glass of bourbon.
The initial rush of anger had faded, leaving behind a cold, creeping anxiety. He looked down at the pale blue carpet near the coffee table. The bloodstains had dried into dark, rusty spots.
His phone rang on the glass table. The caller ID showed his boss, senior partner at Vanguard.
Trevor took a deep breath, smoothing his hair, trying to sound confident as he answered. “Good morning, Mr. Harris—”
“Pack your things, Trevor,” Harris’s voice came back cold and abrupt. “Security is packing your desk right now. Your termination letter is being emailed to you.”
Trevor’s heart plummeted. “What? Mr. Harris, listen to me, this is a private matter! My wife’s father is using his influence—”
“Your wife’s father just pulled a sixty-million-dollar investment fund from our firm, Trevor,” Harris cut him off sharply. “And frankly, after seeing the medical reports his legal team sent to our HR department this morning, no one in this company wants to be in the same building as you. Don’t come back to the office.”
The line went dead.
Trevor slammed the phone onto the couch, his chest heaving. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, his rage rekindling. “Using money to ruin me!”
He grabbed his jacket and drove straight to his lawyer’s office in downtown Chicago. His attorney, Richard Drake, was a cynical man known for representing high-net-worth clients in ugly divorces.
“You’re in trouble, Trevor,” Drake said without preamble as Trevor sat down. “Arthur Sterling isn’t just filing for divorce on Rebecca’s behalf. He’s pushing the District Attorney to file aggravated felony assault charges against you.”
“She fell!” Trevor shouted, slamming his hand on Drake’s desk. “It was an argument! She got in my face!”
Drake leaned back, unimpressed. “Save the performance for someone who cares, Trevor. Here’s the problem: the ER records show facial trauma consistent with direct blunt-force trauma, not a fall. Her tooth was fractured at the root. Plus, her father’s security team took high-resolution photos of her injuries before she went into surgery.”
“So what do we do?” Trevor demanded, sweat beads forming on his upper lip.
“We fight dirty,” Drake said coldly. “We claim she has a history of mental instability. We bring up her medical history, her prenatal mood swings, anything we can find. If we can prove she’s an unfit mother, we can force Sterling to settle out of court to protect his family’s reputation. If you get partial custody, you keep leverage. If you lose custody entirely, you’re looking at prison time.”
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Trevor sat back, a cruel smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Her mother died of severe depression ten years ago. Rebecca spent months in therapy after that.”
Drake smiled back, a shark spotting blood in the water. “Now we’re talking. Get me those medical records. We’re going to make Rebecca look like a danger to her own children.”
