I checked our remaining ties. I’d co-signed Lucas’s lease and car loan. And there was the trust I’d set up when he was born—mine to manage until he turned thirty-five.
If Alyssa thought she was marrying into wealth, she was wrong.
I called my attorney, Michael Tan, and locked the trust down—irrevocable, separate property. I hired a private investigator, Sofia Alvarez.
Two days later, Sofia laid it out: tens of thousands in Alyssa’s debt, an eviction, and a loan application submitted in Lucas’s name—email and phone number hers.
Fraud.
There was more. She’d told vendors she needed to be married quickly due to inheritance clauses that didn’t exist.
I sent Lucas a certified letter through Michael, outlining the evidence.
That night, Alyssa called, furious. Threatened restraining orders. I stayed calm.
Then they showed up—Lucas and Alyssa together. She accused me of abuse, demanded I apologize and drop everything in exchange for attending the wedding.
I handed Lucas the folder.
He read. His face changed.
Alyssa panicked, cried, issued an ultimatum: Choose her or me.
They left together. The folder stayed behind.