Chapter 1
“What the hell are you doing with my private documents?”
Then, there was nothing but silence.
PART 3
I rushed out of my corporate office in Century City accompanied by Franklin and two of our top corporate lawyers. As our car navigated through the heavy afternoon traffic, I called Daphne’s phone repeatedly. On my fifth attempt, she finally answered in a trembling whisper.
“I am okay, Mom,” she breathed. “I managed to hide my phone. Martin thought I was just cleaning up the desk, but he is getting very suspicious of me.”
“Lock yourself in the guest bedroom and do not argue with him under any circumstances,” I commanded.
That very evening, I drove over to their house, carrying the wooden box containing a completely empty USB drive.
“The digital signature finally turned up,” I said, handing the box to Martin.
Martin’s eyes gleamed with greed as he snatched the box, putting it away without even opening it to check the files. Alana took the opportunity to humiliate my daughter once again in front of me.
“Your mother clearly never taught you how to properly run a decent household,” Alana remarked as she looked at the dinner table. “The food is completely cold.”
I smiled politely and looked at Martin.
“Are things going poorly at your company, Martin?” I asked innocently.
Martin instantly went pale. By that hour, his corporate bank accounts had already been frozen, and several key suppliers had abruptly halted their shipments.
“It is just a temporary mistake by the bank,” Martin muttered, avoiding my gaze.
The very next morning, Martin tried to apply for the final loan, but the bank rejected the empty memory card and informed him that all his credit lines were officially canceled. That night, he called me with a level of politeness he had never shown me before.
“Lillian, we are hosting a family luncheon this coming Sunday,” he said smoothly. “We really need to sit down and discuss Daphne’s financial future.”
“I would be delighted to attend,” I replied, knowing exactly what they were planning.
I knew they wanted to surround us with their wealthy relatives to pressure me into selling my auto shop to pay off their massive debt.
On Sunday, I arrived at the Dupont mansion wearing a simple gray dress and carrying a cheap canvas bag. Alana, draped in expensive pearls, announced loudly to the gathered guests as I walked in.
“Lillian actually walked here from the bus stop,” she sneered. “I suppose shop people are simply used to manual labor.”
There were a dozen extended family members gathered around a lavish table filled with expensive seafood and fine wines, all of which had been charged to Daphne’s personal credit cards because Martin’s accounts were frozen. Daphne, wearing a kitchen apron, was quietly serving the food with a pale, silent face.
Alana stood up to begin her speech.
“Because of Daphne’s sheer incompetence, our family business has lost twelve million dollars,” she declared.
Martin stepped forward and placed a thick contract right in front of me.
“If you sell your auto shop and assume this debt, we will agree not to press criminal charges against your daughter,” Martin threatened. “If you refuse, I will file for divorce tomorrow, and Daphne will be left completely ruined.”
The relatives immediately began chiming in.
“Parents must always pay for the mistakes of their children,” one uncle remarked.
“She should be incredibly grateful that the Duponts are not sending her straight to prison,” an aunt added.
Daphne began to cry silently.
“Mom, I swear I did not do any of this,” she sobbed.
Before I could say a single word, the heavy front door swung open. A young, elegantly dressed woman walked into the dining room without knocking, looking absolutely furious.
“Martin!” Willa Gonzales yelled, ignoring the guests. “All my credit cards are blocked, and my landlord says you must pay the rent today!”
Martin scrambled out of his chair and rushed to the foyer, begging her to step outside.
“I am about to get the money from Daphne’s mother right now,” we heard him whisper frantically. “As soon as she signs over the shop, I will transfer everything to you.”
The woman slammed the door hard behind her. Martin returned to the dining room, sweating profusely.
“She was just a very persistent marketing representative,” he lied, wiping his brow.
Nobody in the room truly believed him, but Alana raised her voice to regain control of the situation.
“Sign the contract right now, Lillian,” she demanded.
I opened my canvas bag and pulled out a thick black folder. First, I laid out the photographs of the forged divorce papers. Next, I placed Willa’s bank statements, the luxury apartment lease, and the illegal transfer receipts on the table.
“Is this the marketing representative you were talking about, Martin?” I asked calmly. “The same woman you are supporting while forcing my daughter to take on your debts?”
Martin froze in his seat. Alana was the first to react, slamming her hand on the table.
“This is all a lie!” she shrieked. “This low-class woman is just trying to destroy my son’s reputation!”
Martin swept the photographs off the table with his hand.
“Even if any of this were true, you cannot do anything to stop me,” he sneered. “I run Dupont Manufacturing, and you are nothing but a widow with a grease-covered workshop.”
Several relatives nodded in agreement. They did not care about the truth; they only cared about staying on the side of power.
I reached into my bag and pulled out one final document, placing it gently on the table.
“Your company has officially lost the support of its primary client,” I said. “All your contracts have been canceled, and your outstanding debts are due tomorrow morning.”
Martin read the official seizure notice and turned completely white. Alana let out a desperate, forced laugh.
“She probably printed this fake document at a local library,” she mocked.
At that exact moment, the front doorbell rang. Martin opened it and returned to the room accompanied by Franklin Cole, who was wearing an immaculate custom suit and carrying a leather briefcase. Martin’s face instantly filled with relief.
“Everyone, this is the director of Bartlett Automotive Group,” Martin announced proudly to his family. “Our most important client has arrived.”
The relatives stood up to greet him, and Alana quickly offered him the head of the table. Franklin did not move.
“I did not come here to eat, Mr. Dupont,” Franklin said coldly. “I came to deliver these final documents directly to our president.”
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He walked past Martin, stopped right in front of me, and bowed his head respectfully as he handed me the briefcase.
“Ms. Lillian Bartlett, here are the official contract cancellations, the civil complaints, and the criminal report for the District Attorney’s office,” Franklin said clearly.
