Chapter 5 - The First Saloon
I answered the phone on the third ring.
“Mrs. Carter?” a crisp, professional female voice inquired.
“Speaking.”
“My name is Attorney Sarah Lin. I represent Janet and Steve Gallo. I’m calling to schedule an immediate mediation session before our emergency injunction hearing next Tuesday morning. My clients are prepared to offer a settlement regarding June’s visitation rights, provided certain... financial conditions are met.”
The audacity of it took my breath away.
Before I could speak, Greg snatched the phone right out of my hand, hitting the speakerphone button so we both could hear.
“This is Greg Carter,” he said, his voice deadly calm, dripping with a cold menace that made even me shiver. “Listen to me very carefully, Ms. Lin. There will be no mediation. There will be no settlement.”
A brief pause crackled over the line before the attorney recovered her professional composure. “Mr. Carter, I advise you strongly against taking an uncooperative stance. My clients have extensive documentation of their prior relationship with the minor child, and the court looks very favorably upon—”
“Your clients are frauds,” Greg interrupted, his voice rising, carrying the force of a tidal wave. “They have documentation? Fine. I have bank records showing thirty-six months of extortion disguised as familial support. I have text messages where my mother explicitly calls my seven-year-old daughter an ‘interruption.’ And I have a room full of birthday guests who watched my mother physically segregate my child because she didn't fit into their genealogical purity test.”
Attorney Lin went silent on the other end.
“So here is my counter-offer,” Greg continued, leaning over the kitchen island, his eyes fixed on the wall. “Tell my parents that if they don't withdraw this pathetic lawsuit within twenty-four hours, I will hand every single financial record, every abusive voicemail, and every piece of evidence of their predatory behavior straight to the prosecutor’s office, alongside a countersuit for harassment and emotional damages. Do you understand me?”
“Mr. Carter, threats will only—”
“That’s not a threat,” Greg snapped. “That’s a deadline. Goodbye, counselor.”
He hit the end button, cutting off the lawyer mid-sentence, and dropped the phone onto the counter.
For a long moment, the kitchen was dead silent. The hum of the refrigerator seemed deafening.
“They’re not going to drop it, Greg,” I said softly, walking over and placing my hand on his rigid shoulder. “People like Janet and Steve don't back down when they’re cornered. They double down.”
“Let them double down,” Greg said, pulling me into his arms and holding me tight against his chest. “We’ve protected June this far. We’re not going to let them win.”
We thought our counter-threat would rattle them. We thought the exposure of their financial manipulation and cruelty would scare them into retreat.
We underestimated how far desperate, narcissistic people will go when their cash flow—and their ego—is stripped away.
The next morning, an unmarked black car pulled slowly into our driveway, idling by the curb for five long minutes before an unfamiliar man in a dark trench coat stepped out and walked straight toward our front door, holding a clipboard.
May you like
Greg looked out the living room window, his face turning to stone.
“They didn't withdraw,” Greg whispered, reaching for his car keys on the entryway table. “They just escalated.”
