Chapter 6 - The Trap is Set
The Miami-Dade County Courthouse was a fortress of limestone and security gates, but to Derek Foster, it felt like an execution chamber.
He stood in the hallway outside Courtroom 4B, dressed in his last remaining clean tailored suit. His sister Suzanne stood next to him, her face pale, her eyes red from crying, wearing a cheap dress she had bought from a supermarket because her designer closet had been padlocked by the asset receivers.
"What do you mean we can't settle this out of court, Richard?!" Derek snarled at his corporate defense lawyer, who looked completely exhausted.
"I mean Victoria Vance doesn't want your money, Derek—she wants your head," Richard said flatly, adjusting his briefcase. "She has the audio recording of the coffee attack. She has the forensic digital trail linking your home IP to the Cayman accounts. And she has a signed confession from your sister’s boutique manager stating that Suzanne knew the funds were marital property stolen from Skylar. The State Attorney is already drafting an indictment for corporate wire fraud. Our only chance to avoid immediate arrest is to surrender the title of the Biscayne apartment and sign a full waiver of all marital assets."
"Never!" Suzanne screamed, drawing the attention of several bailiffs down the hall. "That apartment is the only thing we can sell to pay off my boutique debts! If we give that up, I’m bankrupt! I’ll lose my car! I’ll lose everything!"
"You’ve already lost everything, Suzanne," a cold, smooth voice cut through the hallway.
They turned to see Victoria Vance walking toward them, flanked by Leo Miller and two federal marshals. Behind them, walking with a slow, unshakeable dignity, was Skylar. The silicone patch on her face was gone, revealing a long, thin, pink scar running from her ear to her jawline—a physical testament to the fire she had survived.
Derek stepped forward, his face twisting into an expression of desperate, manipulative charm. "Skylar... please. Look at me. We can talk about this. The coffee... it was an accident, you know that. I was stressed about work. Suzanne was under pressure. We’re a family, Skylar. You can't let these lawyers destroy our life over a broken cup."
Skylar stopped five feet from him. She looked at his expensive suit, his manicured hair, his desperate blue eyes. For six years, this man’s opinion had been the center of her world. Now, he looked like nothing more than a pathetic grifter caught in a net.
"Our life was a lie, Derek," Skylar said, her voice dropping to a calm, resonant frequency that echoed off the high stone walls. "You didn't want a wife. You wanted an employee you didn't have to pay. You wanted a logistics machine to fund your sister's vanity and your offshore vanity."
"Skylar, please," Suzanne begged, reaching out her hands. "The boutique... it's my life. If you sign those asset papers, the bank will take my inventory. I’ll have nothing."
"You should have thought about that before you stood in my kitchen and demanded my grandmother’s savings card," Skylar replied coldly. "You smiled when Derek threw that coffee, Suzanne. You smiled when you thought I was broken on the floor. Let’s see how much you smile when the judge reads the judgment."
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"Court is now in session," the bailiff announced, throwing open the heavy double doors of Courtroom 4B.
Victoria Vance looked at Derek’s attorney with a predatory glint in her eyes. "After you, Richard. Let’s go show His Honor what happens to men who use hot coffee as a negotiation tool."
