Chapter 7 - The Apex PredatorIf you want to destroy a rat, you don't send a cat. You send a lion.
Twenty-four hours later, I walked through the towering glass doors of Vance & Sterling, the most ruthless, feared family law litigation firm in Manhattan. I wasn't wearing comfortable jeans and a soft sweater. I wore a tailored, stark-white Alexander McQueen suit and stiletto heels that clicked against the marble floor like a ticking time bomb. I looked like absolute, untouchable power.
I was ushered into a sprawling corner office overlooking Central Park. Sitting behind a massive obsidian desk was Harrison Vance.
Harrison was a legend in the city. He was in his early forties, with piercing dark eyes, a razor-sharp jawline, and a reputation for financially eviscerating unfaithful, manipulative husbands. He did not settle. He destroyed.
"Have a seat," Harrison said, his voice a low, commanding baritone. He didn't offer fake pleasantries. He tapped the thick file I had overnighted to his office. "I read Andrew’s petition. It is a masterpiece of narcissistic delusion. He’s claiming that you are mentally unstable and that living in a 'rural environment' is detrimental to a child of her pedigree."
"He doesn't care about her pedigree," I said, taking the leather seat across from him. "He lives in a two-bedroom apartment in New Jersey. He has hundreds of thousands in IRS debt. He wants my company’s revenue, Harrison. He thinks he can use Family Court to extort a settlement out of me."
Harrison leaned back, studying me with a look of intense, clinical approval. "He hired Marcus Thorne to represent him. Thorne is a bottom-feeder, but he is incredibly aggressive. He’s notorious for dragging mothers through agonizing, multi-year psychological evaluations just to wear them down financially."
"I have infinite capital, Harrison. I cannot be worn down," I stated, my eyes locking onto his with unwavering intensity. "I don't just want to win this custody case. I want Andrew’s legal rights to my daughter permanently, irrevocably severed. I want a restraining order. I want him legally erased from her life."
Harrison offered a slow, terrifying smile. "That is a very high bar to clear in the State of New York. Judges favor the biological father, even if he is a broke, disgraced former CEO. We need irrefutable proof that he is an active danger to the child, or that he is committing fraud on the court."
"Then we find the fraud," I leaned forward, resting my hands on the desk. "Andrew has not had a legitimate paycheck in three years. Marcus Thorne charges a hundred thousand dollars just to retain his services. Andrew didn't pay for that lawyer. Someone is funding this lawsuit."
Harrison’s eyes narrowed, the lethal intellect of the city's best lawyer immediately catching my drift. "You think he has a backer. Someone who hates you."
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"I think the board of directors at Weston Holdings is still furious that my consulting firm just poached three of their highest-net-worth female clients last month," I smiled—a cold, razor-sharp expression. "Follow the money, Harrison. Find out who is paying Thorne’s retainer. If Andrew is colluding with my corporate rivals to use my daughter as a weapon, that is extortion."
"I will put my best private investigators on it immediately," Harrison said, standing up and buttoning his bespoke jacket. He extended his hand across the desk. "Andrew made a fatal mistake bringing you back to this city. Let’s go to court."
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