Dela tapped the folder lightly. “If this goes public, she will claim persecution,” she said. “She will paint herself as a victim. She will weaponize sympathy.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s why it can’t be a rumor. It has to be undeniable.”
Dela nodded once. “When?”
I smiled. “June 14th.”
“The Bar Association gala,” Dela murmured, understanding instantly.
“Exactly.”
Dela leaned back, studying me. “You’re sure you want to do it like this?” she asked. “Public humiliation can ricochet. It can hurt your father, too.”
I thought of my mother’s letter in my drawer at the beach house. I thought of the years I’d been erased quietly. I thought of Victoria telling me, casually, to find somewhere else to live.
“I’m not doing it for humiliation,” I said. “I’m doing it because she’s been protected by silence for fifteen years. I’m done protecting her.”
After that meeting, my days became a blur of normal life layered over covert preparation.
At work, I smiled on calls and talked about market entry strategies. At night, I met Marcus and Patricia and rehearsed the timeline like testimony. I gathered every text Victoria had sent me. Every email. Every voicemail with her condescension baked in.