Meanwhile, three blocks away, Thomas and Victoria were huddled in the corner booth of a cheap, fluorescent-lit coffee shop, seeking shelter from the lingering rain. Their phones were buzzing relentlessly on the sticky laminate table. Haley had forgotten to end her live stream when she dropped her phone. The entire internet had witnessed Thomas’s screaming, humiliating meltdown. Haley’s inbox was flooded with notifications—not from fans, but from her major sponsors, dropping her lifestyle brand by the minute due to the viral embarrassment.
Before Thomas could even begin to process the catastrophic loss of his daughter’s income, a tall, imposing man in a bespoke gray suit walked up to their table. He didn’t introduce himself warmly. He simply laid a thick, legally binding document directly over Thomas’s cooling coffee cup.
“Mr. Hensley?” the man asked, his tone clipped and professional. “I am Arthur Vance. I represent Dr. Clara Hensley. This document serves as an immediate injunction freeze on all of your personal and business bank accounts.”
Thomas stared at the paper, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. “What? On what grounds?!”
“On the grounds of a civil lawsuit contesting your documented, illegal attempt to fraudulently transfer and liquidate her late mother’s estate,” Mr. Vance replied smoothly, buttoning his jacket. “My client has also filed a restraining order. If you step foot near her property or her laboratory, you will be jailed. We will see you in federal court.”
Back in the Dean’s office, I capped the pen, a profound sigh of relief leaving my lungs. It was done. The house was safe. I was safe.
