The room was spinning, but through the haze of pain, I was aware of the chaos unfolding around me. My mother’s scream pierced the air as if she finally realized the horror of what had just transpired. My father, Charles Grant, stood frozen, his face a mixture of anger and something that almost resembled regret. Almost.
Madison rushed over, tears streaming down her face, whether from genuine concern or sheer performance, I couldn’t tell. The guests were in an uproar, whispers growing louder as they exchanged shocked glances and murmured amongst themselves. The mask of a perfect family had shattered, its pieces scattered across the gleaming marble floor.
I knew what I had to do. My mind, sharp and clear despite the throbbing pain, turned to the safety net I’d built over the years. The legal protections, the hidden clauses, the precautions I’d never thought I’d need to invoke. I had video evidence, a team of lawyers I could trust, and a clause that would turn the tables entirely.
