Chapter 6 - The Forensic Blitzkrieg
I didn't launch a media war with speeches. I launched it with hard, cold data.
At midnight, my legal team released a comprehensive public evidentiary packet to every major news outlet in North America.
The packet contained three devastating items: First, the certified ER medical reports from the night of our wedding, detailing Patricia's fractured cheekbone alongside forensic timestamped photographs showing the age of her injuries. Second, a high-definition audio recording captured by the penthouse suite's smart home security system—recording Arthur’s hand striking Patricia, Luca’s explicit threat ("Stay out of my family’s business"), the sharp crack of his fingers, and his subsequent confession.
And third, the smoking gun: thirty years of tax filings showing Arthur Vance systematically shifting hundreds of millions in liability onto Patricia while hiding his personal assets in unmapped offshore trusts.
By seven the next morning, the public narrative had completely inverted.
The internet erupted. The hashtag #JusticeForPatricia trended globally. Protesters gathered outside the Vance family manor carrying signs demanding immediate prison sentences for Arthur and Luca.
My phone rang. It was Arthur Vance’s personal line.
I answered, placing it on speaker.
"You miserable bitch," Arthur's voice boomed through the speaker, no longer containing a shred of his refined billionaire veneer. "You think you've won? You've destroyed the stock! You've destroyed thirty years of work!"
"I haven't destroyed anything, Arthur," I replied, watching the morning sun illuminate the Manhattan skyline. "I simply turned on the lights. The cockroaches were already there."
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"I will end you," he hissed, his breath heavy and frantic. "I have men who don't care about federal warrants. If I'm going down, I am taking you and Patricia with me!"
"Try it," I said softly, and hung up the phone.
