Chapter 2 - The Grandmother’s Secret

The fallout from the deposition was immediate and apocalyptic.

Within forty-eight hours, Jerome filed the petition in probate court, enacting the infidelity clause of Eleanor’s will. All of Scott’s financial accounts were frozen. The probate judge, taking one look at the mountain of evidence and the clear, irrefutable perjury Scott had committed during the deposition, issued an emergency injunction blocking Scott from accessing a single dime of the $7.3 million.

But the real drama was unfolding outside the courtroom.

Without the promise of a multi-million dollar inheritance, the shiny, romantic facade of Scott and Kayla’s relationship disintegrated overnight. Scott’s credit cards, which he had maxed out buying custom suits and designer bags for Kayla in anticipation of the inheritance, were declined. His luxury car was repossessed from the driveway of the house he had kicked me out of.

I watched it all happen from a distance, receiving updates from Jerome, who was monitoring the asset freezes. But nothing could have prepared me for the phone call I received two weeks later.

It was a Tuesday evening. I was sitting in my apartment, sipping a glass of wine and reviewing a marketing strategy for my new SVP role, when my phone buzzed. The caller ID showed an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Avery?”

The voice was tiny, fragile, and choked with tears. It took me a second to recognize it. It was Kayla.

I almost hung up. “Why are you calling me?” I asked coldly.

“Please, don't hang up,” she sobbed. “I don't have anyone else to call. Scott… Scott threw me out.”

I paused, my wine glass hovering in the air. “Excuse me?”

“He lost his mind when the accounts got frozen,” Kayla cried, the words tumbling out of her in a frantic rush. “He started drinking. He blamed me for the receipts. He said if I hadn't demanded so many expensive things, you never would have found the shoebox. And then… then he found my iPad.”

I set my glass down. “What was on the iPad, Kayla?”

There was a long, shuddering breath on the other end of the line. “Messages. Between me and my ex-boyfriend, Marcus. We… we hooked up a few times when Scott was out of town.”

The absolute sheer audacity of it almost made me laugh. Scott had destroyed his eight-year marriage for a woman who was cheating on him behind his back.

“Let me guess,” I said smoothly. “The baby isn't Scott’s.”

Kayla broke down into loud, ugly sobs. “I didn't know! I swear I thought it was his! But Scott forced me to take a prenatal paternity test last week when he found the messages. The results came back today. It’s Marcus’s baby. Scott went crazy. He packed all my stuff in garbage bags and threw them on the front lawn. I have nowhere to go, Avery. My cards are maxed out.”

I listened to the woman who had smirked at me in the grocery store, the woman who had laughed in the background while my husband kicked me out of my own home, beg for my mercy.

“Kayla,” I said softly, my voice perfectly level.

“Yes?” she sniffled, a pathetic note of hope in her voice.

“Put it on the lawn. No drama.”