On the screen, the static cut to a video clip. It was grainy, taken from a long-distance lens, but undeniable. It showed Richard and Monica at a park bench. Richard was kissing her stomach.
A collective gasp went through the room. It sounded like all the oxygen had been sucked out at once.
Monica let out a strangled sound, a high-pitched, “No!” She turned to look at the projector, her face pale as death under the heavy makeup.
The audio continued, relentless.
“Just wait until her father’s check clears. Five million, Monica. That’s our ticket. We’ll take the baby and leave her with nothing but her empty house and her dried-up womb. She’s too old to give me a son anyway. She’s barren.”
The room erupted. My mother’s friends covered their mouths. Richard’s business partners looked at him with absolute disgust.
But I wasn’t done.
The video cut to a new image. It was a document. The PDF of the involuntary commitment petition Richard had drafted. The words “mentally incompetent” were highlighted in red, zooming in so everyone could read them.
Then the coup de grâce—the screen flashed to the DNA results I had received from the lab.
PATERNITY TEST RESULT – PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 99.99%
FATHER: RICHARD VANCE.
And finally, a slide I had made myself. A simple photo of the Project Green contract Richard had signed two days ago, with his signature blown up next to the clause:
PERSONAL LIABILITY: $10,000,000.
The video ended. The screen went black.
For three seconds, there was absolute silence. Then—chaos.
“You bastard!” Monica screamed.
She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at Richard.
“You said she didn’t know! You said it was safe!”
Richard was shaking. His face was a mask of terror. He looked at the crowd, then at me. He tried to laugh, a manic, broken sound.
“This… this is a deepfake. It’s AI. Laura is sick. She’s—”
“Save it, Richard,” I said into the microphone. My voice was calm, booming over the whispers. “The police are on their way. And so are your creditors.”
“Creditors?” Richard stammered, sweating profusely. “What creditors?”
My father stepped out from the shadows.
“Me,” he said. “You signed a personal guarantee for ten million dollars on Tuesday, Richard. And since you just admitted to conspiracy to commit fraud and theft on tape, I am calling the loan right now.”
Richard looked at my father, then at the contract flashed on the screen in his mind. The color drained from his face completely. He realized the trap.
“No,” he whispered. “No, that was… that was for the trust—”
“There is no trust,” I said, walking down the stairs. “There never was. You signed a debt, Richard. You owe my family ten million dollars. And since we have a prenup that denies you everything in the event of adultery, you have no way to pay it.”
Monica grabbed Richard’s arm, her nails digging into his suit.
