Chapter 5 - The Legal Battle Lines
Two weeks passed. I wrapped up my consulting contract in London and flew back to the United States. I didn't return to Virginia; instead, I checked into a luxury hotel in Washington, D.C., under my corporate account.
I needed space, but I also needed to face the music.
My family hadn't given up. Since I had blocked their numbers, they had resorted to sending frantic emails and even trying to contact my office. My assistant, a sharp woman named Chloe, had politely but firmly told them that I was unavailable for personal matters during business hours.
One morning, while sitting in the hotel lobby with a coffee, a tall figure approached my table. It was Reid Langford. He was dressed in a well-tailored grey suit, holding a manila folder.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked.
"Please," I said, gesturing to the armchair across from me. "How is the apartment?"
"A few scratches on the study door and a dent in the safe, but otherwise fine," Reid smiled slightly, sitting down. "The kids' toys are still in my storage unit. I'm waiting for the state to tell me where to send them."
"How are Nolan and Hallie?" I asked, a pang of guilt hitting my chest. "They didn't deserve any of this."
"They're with their father now," Reid said. "Apparently, Paige had been denying him visitation for months, claiming he was unfit. But when the court looked at her arrest record from two weeks ago, they granted him temporary sole custody. He flew in from Ohio to get them. He seemed like a decent guy. He was very grateful they were safe."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Thank god. At least something good came out of this."
"As for your sister," Reid opened the folder. "She's in a lot of trouble. The federal prosecutor isn't playing around. Because she tried to force entry into a safe containing active federal operational assets, they are treating this as a serious security breach. Her defense attorney is trying to claim she was suffering from a temporary mental break caused by 'housing insecurity.'"
I laughed, a bitter sound. "Housing insecurity? She lived in a gorgeous three-bedroom townhouse that my parents paid the rent on. She just wanted my penthouse because it had a private elevator and a view of the Potomac."
"Exactly," Reid agreed. "We have the text messages you sent. They prove premeditation and a complete disregard for your warnings. However, her attorney is trying to subpoena you. They want to force you to testify that you 'traditionally' allowed Paige to use your properties, trying to establish a pattern of implied consent."
"I never allowed her to use my properties without me there," I said firmly. "Never."
"Then you'll need a lawyer," Reid said, sliding a business card across the table. "This is Arthur Vance. He's a retired federal prosecutor who now does private defense and representation. He knows how the system works, and he knows how to protect you from your family's legal circus."
I looked at the card, then up at Reid. "Why are you helping me so much, Reid? You could have just let your department handle this and ignored me."
Reid looked at me, his eyes warm. "Because you did the right thing, Marissa. Most people in your position would have caved to their family’s pressure. You stood your ground. I respect that."
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I felt a sudden, unfamiliar warmth in my chest. "Thank you, Reid."
"Don't thank me yet," he warned with a slight smirk. "Your parents just hired a private investigator to find out where you're staying. I suggest you call Arthur today."
