Chapter 4 - THE SILENT COUNTERATTACK
On Tuesday morning, I underwent a three-hour surgical procedure at UT Southwestern Medical Center.
Dr. Aris installed a tiny titanium plate and four micro-screws along my left cheekbone to rebuild the shattered socket. When I woke up in the recovery room, my head was wrapped in heavy white bandages, my jaw was wired shut with surgical precision, and a clear liquid IV dripped pain medication into my arm.
Maya sat in the corner of the room, her laptop open, working quietly.
As soon as the nurse stepped out, Maya turned her screen toward me.
"Your father tried to visit the hospital an hour ago," Maya said calmly. "He brought two security guards and a massive bouquet of white orchids."
I tried to speak, but the wires held my teeth firmly together. "Wha...?"
"Don't try to talk," Maya instructed. "I had hospital security turn him away at the main lobby. Per my instructions, Parkland Memorial filed a mandatory domestic violence report with the Dallas Police Department on Sunday morning. The case has been assigned to Detective Frank Miller in the Special Investigations Unit."
She pulled up a document on her screen.
"Miller viewed the security footage from the Grand Monarch Hotel lobby," Maya continued, a dark smile playing on her lips. "The hotel manager tried to delete the video files, but my team served a preservation letter within two hours of the incident. We have three camera angles showing Richard dragging you through the double doors by your hair while you were bleeding."
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the cold metal plate beneath my skin.
"Here's our strategy," Maya said, leaning in close. "Your father thinks this is a family matter that can be settled with a quiet financial offer or intimidated into silence. He has no idea we have the Santa Fe trust records. He has no idea we know about the $5.2 million."
She opened a draft legal complaint on her laptop.
"We are not just filing a civil lawsuit for battery," Maya declared. "We are filing a multi-count lawsuit in federal court alleging:
Civil RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations) violations.
Breach of Fiduciary Duty.
Grand Larceny and Fraud.
Forgery and Identity Theft."
Maya looked at me, her face a mask of absolute legal warfare. "Because Nathan’s Arlington penthouse was purchased directly with stolen trust funds, we are naming your brother as a co-conspirator. And because your father used $2.1 million of your money to keep Halden Aeronautics solvent, we are placing a lis pendens—a legal lien—on his corporate headquarters in Highland Park."
I took a slow, deep breath through my nose. I picked up a small whiteboard and dry-erase marker resting on the bedside table.
I wrote five words: DO NOT SETTLE. DESTROY THEM.
Maya read the board, her smile widening into something truly terrifying. "Oh, Evie. I’m going to enjoy this."
At 4:00 p.m. that afternoon, my phone rang.
It was my mother, Diane.
Maya pressed the speakerphone button and activated a digital recording app on her tablet.
"Evelyn," my mother’s voice came through the speaker, tight, clipped, and dripping with performative pity. "I know you are upset, but this theatrical display at the hospital has gone far enough. Your father cannot focus on his upcoming Department of Defense contract review with police detectives calling his office."
I sat silently, holding the ice pack against my bandaged face.
"Evelyn! Answer me!" Diane snapped, her polished facade slipping. "Your father is prepared to give you $50,000 to cover your medical expenses and give your little design business a fresh start. But you must drop this absurd police report immediately and sign a non-disclosure agreement before five o'clock today. Nathan’s Pentagon security clearance is being held up because of your childish temper tantrum!"
I reached for the whiteboard, but Maya gently held up her hand, stepping closer to the phone.
"Mrs. Halden," Maya spoke into the microphone, her voice cool, professional, and deadlier than a razor blade. "This is Maya Prescott, lead counsel for Evelyn Halden."
A sharp intake of breath sounded on the line. "Maya? This is a private family matter—"
"This is no longer a family matter, Diane," Maya interrupted smoothly. "This is a criminal assault and federal bank fraud investigation. Your offer of $50,000 is an absolute joke. You have twenty-four hours to retain criminal defense representation for yourself, your husband, and your son."
"How dare you speak to me—"
May you like
"Oh, and Diane?" Maya added, her tone dropping into a icy whisper. "Tell Richard that we found the Santa Fe files. We know where every penny of the $5.2 million went."
The line went completely dead.
