Chapter 5 - The Corporate Retaliation
The legal department of St. Jude’s Premier Medical Center did not operate like a standard civil law practice; it functioned with the institutional velocity and unlimited resources of a multi-billion-dollar healthcare network. Marcus Vance had spent forty-eight hours mobilizing a multi-layered legal strike team that included former federal prosecutors, forensic accountants, and top-tier family law practitioners.
By the following Monday, while Victoria was being transported back across state lines in the rear of a high-security transport van, Marcus stood in front of my hospital bed, which had now been moved into a private, high-security rehabilitation suite on the top floor of the facility.
"The Montgomery family has completely folded, Laura," Marcus announced, tossing a certified legal agreement onto my overbed table. "They want absolutely nothing to do with the scandal. Harrison Montgomery III’s personal attorneys spent the weekend reviewing the forensic evidence we compiled—specifically the video analysis of the forged bank transfers and Julian's assault report. Their family PR firm realized that if Harrison stayed associated with a woman who attempted to murder her sister for a wedding dress fund, their maritime shipping contracts with the federal government could be severely jeopardized due to corporate ethics reviews."
I reached for my water glass, my left hand still wrapped in a heavy fiberglass cast from the fracture she had caused during my fall down the stairs. "So they cut her loose completely?"
"More than that," Marcus replied, a cold smile appearing on his face. "They've delivered her engagement ring to our office. Because the ring was purchased using a corporate line of credit that Harrison’s father controls, they have legally repossessed the asset and have offered to transfer the liquidation value of the diamond—approximately one hundred twenty thousand dollars—directly into a restricted medical trust fund to cover your post-operative rehabilitation and long-term physical therapy costs."
"I don't want his diamond money, Marcus," I said quietly, looking out the window at the distant mountains. "Take that hundred twenty thousand dollars and add it directly to Dad's nursing scholarship fund. Let her see that the very jewel she used to flash in Patterson’s office is now paying for the education of the nurses who are helping me learn how to walk again."
"Consider it done," Marcus said, making a quick note on his tablet. "Now, let's discuss the probate court. Arthur Patterson has officially filed a motion to declare Victoria an 'unworthy heir' under the state's Slayer Statute."
I looked at him, my eyebrows rising slightly despite the dull ache in my forehead. "The Slayer Statute? I'm not dead, Marcus."
"The statute has been expanded by state precedent over the last decade," Marcus explained, leaning forward, his legal instincts sharpening. "Under the modern revision of the equity laws, if an heir attempts to commit a felony assault or murder against another beneficiary to alter the distribution of an estate, or out of malice regarding the inheritance, the probate court has the full authority to completely disinherit the aggressor, treating them as if they had predeceased the testator without any issue."
"So she loses her entire share?"
"Every single dollar," Marcus said. "The two hundred forty thousand dollars that Dad left her will be legally stripped from her name and transferred entirely to your accounts. Combine that with your share, and you will have nearly half a million dollars under your direct control. Her wedding fund has literally become her victim’s legal war chest."
Before I could respond, a soft knock came at the door. Dr. Julian Vance stepped inside, carrying a new set of physical therapy logs and a pair of specialized, lightweight carbon-fiber forearm crutches.
"Alright, Laura," Julian said, his voice warm but professional. "The legal warfare is turning in your favor, but your physical warfare begins today. The post-operative inflammation has decreased by forty percent. The titanium rods are perfectly seated. It’s time to see if we can get the Chief Executive Officer back onto her feet."
I looked at the carbon-fiber crutches, a sudden wave of intense anxiety rising in my chest. For thirty-five years, I had been the woman who walked into rooms with a commanding presence, my heels clicking with authority. The thought of leaning on metal rods just to move three inches across a linoleum floor was terrifying.
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But then I thought of Victoria, sitting in her jail cell, waiting for her arraignment. I thought of our father, who had spent his life standing tall, working with his hands until the day he died.
"Give me the crutches, Julian," I said, pulling the white cotton blanket away from my legs. "Let's go to work."
