Chapter 5 - The Setup
The DNA results arrived in my inbox on Friday morning at exactly 9:00 AM.
Probability of Paternity: 0.00%.
Richard was not Leo’s father. The boy was nothing but a prop Brianna had used to secure a ring and a fake fortune.
I spent the rest of the day orchestrating my masterpiece. I booked a private dining room at L’Orangerie, the most exclusive, ridiculously expensive restaurant in the city. I knew Richard wouldn't be able to resist the allure of a high-society dinner—he’d think I was finally bowing to him, ready to hand over the check.
I texted Brianna: Let’s settle this out of court. I’ve booked a private room at L’Orangerie tonight at 8 PM. Bring Richard. Let’s negotiate the $500,000.
Her reply was instantaneous: We will be there. Thank you for being reasonable, Maya.
I wore a sharp, crimson power suit. My mother, who had landed that afternoon, wore an elegant black dress, looking like a queen stepping onto a battlefield.
When we walked into the private room, Richard and Brianna were already there, sipping vintage champagne. Richard was wearing a tailored tuxedo that I knew he hadn't paid for, and Brianna was draped in cheap rhinestones she thought looked like diamonds.
When Richard saw my mother, his smug smile vanished. “What is she doing here?” he spat.
“She’s my mother,” I said calmly, taking my seat at the head of the long mahogany table. Mom sat beside me, her posture perfect, her eyes dancing with lethal amusement. “And she wanted to be here for the negotiation.”
Brianna shifted uncomfortably but forced a sugary smile. “Well, let’s get down to business. Maya, we didn’t want to sue you. But we have Leo to think about. He needs a secure future. Once Richard’s funds clear—”
“Let’s talk about those funds, Brianna,” I interrupted, sliding the first manila folder down the polished wood table. It stopped right in front of her plate.
“What is this?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“Open it,” I insisted.
Brianna flipped open the folder. Inside were copies of Richard’s bank statements, foreclosure notices, and the impending federal tax indictment.
“I don’t understand,” Brianna whispered, her eyes darting across the red numbers and the words DEFAULT and BANKRUPTCY. “Richard, what is this? Where is the trust fund?”
Richard’s face turned the color of spoiled milk. He lunged for the papers. “These are fake! She forged them! Maya, you vindictive little bitch—”
“Don’t you dare speak to my daughter that way,” my mother said, her voice cracking like a whip through the quiet room.
“It’s real, Brianna,” I said, leaning forward, resting my elbows on the table. “There is no estate. There is no trust fund. He’s two million dollars in debt. He’s going to federal prison for tax evasion. You didn’t marry a millionaire. You married a broke, aging con artist who can’t even afford the champagne you’re drinking right now.”
Brianna dropped the papers as if they were on fire. She stared at Richard, her face contorted in absolute horror. “You lied to me? You told me you owned properties in Aspen! You told me we were buying a yacht!”
“I was going to figure it out!” Richard yelled, sweating profusely. “I have investors! But what about you, Brianna? You said you came from a good family!”
“Oh, don’t worry, Richard,” I smiled, sliding the second folder down the table toward him. “I brought Brianna’s resume, too.”
Richard ripped open the file. He read her eviction notices. The credit card fraud lawsuits. The massive piles of payday loan debt.
“You’re broke?” Richard roared, slamming his fists on the table. “You’re a scammer? You told me you were an heiress!”
“I’m an heiress to a trailer park!” Brianna screamed back, the refined 'wife' mask completely dissolving into chaotic trashiness. “I gave you the best years of my life! I gave you a son!”
I picked up my glass of water, took a slow sip, and smiled. “About that.”
May you like
I slid the final, thinnest envelope into the center of the table.
Both of them stared at it like it was a live grenade.
