“My child.” He leaned in close, his cologne suffocating me. “And if you get in my way again, I’ll burn your shop to the ground — legally. I know people. You’ll be out of business by Monday, shoemaker.”
I clenched my jaw. The threat felt very real, but I wouldn’t let him take my daughter. It was time to put my plan into action.
I turned my head slightly to speak over my shoulder. “Grace, honey, go get my phone and the black folder on my desk.”
It was time to put my plan into action.
She blinked, confused and teary. “What? Why?”
“Trust me.”
She hesitated for only a second, then ran toward my little workshop.
Chase laughed. “Calling the cops? Adorable. You think the world will take YOUR side over MINE? I’m Chase, pal. I AM the world.”
I smiled then. “Oh, I don’t plan to call the cops.”
She hesitated for only a second.
Grace came running back, clutching my phone and the folder.
I opened it and showed Chase the contents: printed screenshots of every last threatening, coercive message he’d sent Grace about needing her for publicity and how she was the perfect “prop.”
His face went white as paper.
But I wasn’t done yet!
I wasn’t done yet!
I snapped the folder shut. “I already sent copies to your team manager, the league’s ethics department, three major journalists, and your biggest sponsors.”
He lost control then.
He lunged at me, his hand coming up.
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