But Eleanor kept talking, her voice rising with each word. “I don’t understand. The down payment was approved. We signed the—”
“HANG UP!” Michael shouted.
The nurse rushed in, alarmed by the noise. “Is everything okay in here?”
I looked at her calmly. “Could you please call security?”
“What? Why—”
“These people attempted to steal my money while I was sedated. I’d like them removed from my room.”
Eleanor’s eyes went wide. “You ungrateful little—”
Two security guards appeared within minutes. They must have been close by.
They escorted both Michael and Eleanor out while his mother shrieked about lawsuits and my husband glared at me with pure hatred.
“You ruined everything,” he hissed as the guards pulled him toward the door.
“No,” I replied steadily. “You ruined it when you thought my grief made me weak.”
The door closed behind them. The room fell silent except for the steady beep of monitors.
The nurse looked at me with something like awe. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I said honestly. “But I will be.”
That evening, alone in my hospital room, I called James Sterling.
My father’s attorney. The man who’d drafted the prenup Michael didn’t know existed.
He listened quietly while I explained everything. The baby. The fingerprint. The attempted theft.
When I finished, he was quiet for a long moment.
“Good,” he finally said.
“Good?”
“Letting them believe they’d won makes the fall much harder. They thought you were helpless. That made them careless.”
“What happens now?”
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