Chapter 3 - The Web of Deception
The hospital discharged me at three in the morning with eight stitches and a mild concussion.
I didn’t return to the rental house Jackson and I shared. Instead, I drove straight to my condo in downtown Los Angeles—the very home Genesis thought she was entitled to commandeer.
Sitting at my large drafting table with an ice pack pressed against my temple, I met with my attorney, Diane Sterling, and my forensic accountant, Marcus Vance.
Marcus spread out the full financial audit on the glass surface.
“It’s far worse than just the forged mortgage on the Hidden Hills mansion, Nicole,” Marcus said, pointing to a labyrinth of LLCs and offshore banking routes. “Jackson was running a classic pyramid structure within his close circle.”
“What do you mean?”
“The twenty relatives at that dinner tonight?” Marcus adjusted his spectacles. “Almost half of them gave Jackson money to invest in his supposed commercial development projects. His uncle Thomas gave him four hundred thousand from his pension. His cousin Mark invested his children's college funds. Jackson used their money to pay the lease on his luxury cars, his mother’s private club memberships, and the monthly interest on the Hidden Hills lien.”
Diane shook her head in disgust. “And when the funds ran dry, he needed an untainted asset with clean equity to keep the house of cards from collapsing. Your downtown loft is worth one point eight million free and clear. If he had coerced you into signing it over to Genesis, he would have leveraged it within forty-eight hours.”
A wave of cold revulsion washed over me.
For two years, I had questioned my own worth. Every time Jackson criticized my cooking, my wardrobe, or the hours I spent designing public libraries and medical clinics, he was systematically eroding my self-esteem. He wanted me docile. He wanted me so desperate for his family’s approval that when they demanded my home, I would hand over the deed with an apology.
The next morning, the local news broke the story: “Hidden Hills Heir Arrested for Violent Assault; Multi-Million Dollar Fraud Investigation Launched.”
By noon, my phone was ringing incessantly.
It wasn't Jackson. He was being held without bail at the Men’s Central Jail due to the severity of the assault and the flight risk posed by his financial liabilities.
It was Genesis.
I answered the call on speakerphone with Diane recording.
“Nicole,” Genesis wept, her voice cracked and frantic. “You have to drop the charges. You have to tell the police it was an accident!”
“It wasn't an accident, Genesis. Your son smashed a heavy porcelain plate over my head while you sat there cutting your roast.”
“He was stressed! He didn't know what he was doing!” she shrieked. “The bank arrived this morning with a notice of auction! They’re putting our home on the public registry! The private lenders are demanding five million dollars, and your uncle Thomas is threatening to sue Arthur! If Jackson goes to prison, we will lose everything!”
“You already lost everything, Genesis,” I said evenly. “You lost it the moment you let your son steal from his own family to finance your arrogance.”
“We took you in!” she screamed, dropping all pretense of grief. “You were a nobody before you married into the Montgomery name!”
“I built my firm with my own hands,” I replied. “The only thing the Montgomery name ever gave me was eight stitches and a mountain of legal bills. Goodbye, Genesis.”
I hung up and handed the phone to Diane.
“File the emergency divorce petition,” I instructed. “Petition for complete separation of assets, full indemnification from Jackson’s debts based on fraudulent signature, and a permanent restraining order.”
“Consider it done,” Diane said. “And what about the Hidden Hills house?”
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I looked at the blueprints on my drafting table—a project I had put on hold for months because Jackson had told me I wasn't talented enough to manage large-scale commercial developments.
“Let the bank sell it,” I said softly. “I have my own buildings to design.”
