Chapter 11
By the end of the week, Daniel realized that trying to ambush me at work was a dead end. So, he and his mother decided to try a different tactic: public humiliation through social media and a desperate stakeout.
When I stepped out of my apartment building on Saturday morning to head to a brunch meeting with a client, a figure jumped out from behind a concrete pillar. It was Vivian. She looked haggard, her hair unbrushed, wearing an oversized trench coat, holding a smartphone recording video in my face.
“Look at her, everyone!” Vivian screamed into the camera lens, walking backward in front of me. “Look at this narcissistic, selfish monster! She throws her own husband out on the street, cuts off his lifeline, and leaves him to starve while she parades around in designer clothes! She trapped my son with her wealth and threw him away like trash!”
Passersby stopped and turned, staring at us. Smartphones came out.
I didn't flinch. I stopped walking, slipped on my dark oversized sunglasses, and looked directly into Vivian’s shaky camera lens with a calm, bored smile.
“Good morning, internet,” I spoke clearly into her phone. “Just so everyone has the full story: this woman is trespassing outside my private residence. Her son, Daniel Vance, was legally evicted after physically assaulting me in my own home, and a forensic audit just revealed he embezzled thousands of dollars from my accounts. If you’d like to donate to her GoFundMe for mothballs and cheap wine, feel free. Otherwise, back away from me before I add a harassment restraining order to your rap sheet.”
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Vivian’s face went dead white. The sheer venom in my tone and my absolute lack of fear completely shattered her performance. She stammered, lowered the phone, and scrambled backward into a waiting taxi that sped off in a cloud of exhaust.
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