Daniel leaned closer toward the camera. “What are you talking about?”
I adjusted the blanket over my daughter.
“The company was never yours. My father financed the acquisition. I retained controlling interest through the Beaumont Family Trust. You were appointed because I trusted you.”
His mouth opened slightly, then shut again.
Vanessa turned pale beneath her makeup.
“And Daniel?” I added. “You billed luxury travel, jewelry purchases, and hotel stays as client development expenses. Vanessa approved false invoices. Both of you used company funds during my maternity leave.”
“That’s not—” he started.
“Careful,” I interrupted. “This call is being recorded.”
For one beautiful second, neither of them moved.
Then Vanessa grabbed his sleeve tightly. “Fix this.”
He looked at her like she had struck him.
I disconnected the intercom.
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But arrogant people rarely retreat quietly.
They perform.
Over the next month, Daniel told everyone I was suffering postpartum psychosis. Vanessa posted vague little social media quotes about “choosing peace” and “surviving toxic women.” They dined at restaurants I once reserved, used friends I once introduced them to, and walked through rooms pretending scandal looked glamorous.
I stayed silent.
