My lawyer, Andrew Collins, moved fast. Within hours, he had gathered banking records, property filings, and transaction histories tied to the estate. While he worked, I refused to let Marianne send Lily away or treat her like staff. I made Lily sit beside me on the sofa, even though she looked terrified to do so.
Piece by piece, the truth came out—not from Marianne, but from Lily herself.
When she turned sixteen, Marianne convinced her she was “too immature” to handle the property. She claimed taking over finances was for Lily’s protection. Slowly, control slipped away from my daughter’s hands.
Marianne rented out rooms. Hosted extravagant gatherings. Used the estate’s address to prop up her failing luxury brand, impressing investors with a lifestyle she didn’t own.
Lily was forced to clean, cook, serve guests, and manage the house—told it was the only way to “earn her stay” because “your father doesn’t send enough money anymore.”
But I had never missed a payment.
Lily tried to call me. Marianne intercepted every attempt, telling her I was unavailable or unreachable. Eventually, Lily stopped trying altogether.
The guilt nearly crushed me.