Chapter 4 - The Script is Flipped
From the hidden high-fidelity speakers nestled in the corners of the dining room, a voice suddenly blared.
It wasn't music. It was a recording.
“My mom! She told me! She said if I didn't establish dominance in the first week, you’d walk all over me! She told me to take your bank card, control your money, and hit you if you talked back!”
Camryn froze, her coffee cup hovering halfway to her mouth. Her eyes widened, her pristine composure slipping as she recognized her son’s panicked, sobbing voice echoing through the apartment.
Before she could speak, the recording transitioned seamlessly to the audio message she had sent him the night before:
“Put her in her place today, Marvin. If she resists, hit her. A woman is like a young horse; if you don't break her spirit early, she’s useless...”
“What... what is this?” Camryn gasped, her head whipping around to look at Marvin, who had buried his face in his hands, completely unable to meet her gaze. “Marvin! What is the meaning of this?”
I walked back into the dining room. But I wasn't slumping my shoulders anymore. My chin was up, my posture was perfect, and the submissive, tired look on my face had been replaced by a cold, radiant confidence.
“It’s called a digital archive, Camryn,” I said, stepping up to the table. “And it’s high definition.”
“You... you insolent little girl!” Camryn shrieked, standing up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Marvin, shut that off! Destroy whatever device she’s playing that from! Do it now!”
Marvin didn't move. He remained huddled in his seat, shaking his head. “I can't, Mom. She’ll send it to Henderson. She’ll send it to everyone.”
“What?” Camryn gasped, her eyes darting between her son and me. “You coward! You let her threaten you? She’s a woman! You handle her!”
“He tried,” I said softly, taking a step toward her. “Three days ago, he tried to do exactly what you told him to do. He kicked my table. He threw my mother’s china on the floor. And then he tried to put his hands on me.”
I leaned in close, looking down at her. “Do you want to know what happened next, Camryn?”
She took an instinctive step back, her confidence wavering as she realized Marvin was completely neutralized. “You... you’re crazy. I’m calling the police. You’re holding my son hostage!”
“Go ahead,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket and placing it on the table. “Call them. I’m sure they’d love to hear the recordings of you inciting domestic violence, conspiring to commit financial fraud, and advising your son to assault his wife. Let’s see how the local precinct—and the local newspaper—handles a story about the president of the St. Jude’s Altar Society instructing her son to 'break his wife like a horse.'”
Camryn’s face turned an incredibly ugly, mottled shade of grey. Her breathing became shallow. She looked at Marvin, but he was completely useless to her now.
“What do you want?” she hissed, her voice losing all of its polished, upper-class refinement and turning into a desperate, venomous growl. “Money? Is that what this is about? You want a payoff to divorce him?”
“Divorce him? Oh, absolutely,” I smiled. “But I don't need a payoff from you. I’m going to take this apartment, which my family’s down payment largely secured anyway. I’m going to take every single piece of furniture we bought. And as for your precious son? He’s going to sign a post-nuptial agreement today, drafted by my lawyer, which gives me ninety percent of our joint assets and waives any claim he has to my salary or future property.”
“I won't let him sign that!” Camryn yelled. “It’s extortion!”
“It’s a settlement,” I corrected her. “A very generous one, considering the alternative is a felony domestic assault charge for Marvin, a civil lawsuit for emotional distress against you, and the complete, public destruction of your family name. I’ve already sent a copy of these audio files to a secure server. If I don't input a daily safety code, they are automatically forwarded to the pastor of your church, the board of the charity committee, and the HR department of Marvin’s accounting firm.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a clean, crisp document—the agreement my lawyer friend had drafted late last night. I tossed it onto the table, right on top of my expired debit card.
“Sign it, Marvin,” I said.
Marvin looked up, his eyes red and swollen. He looked at his mother, then at the pen I had placed beside the paper.
“Don't you dare, Marvin!” Camryn commanded, her voice cracking. “We will fight this! We have resources!”
May you like
“With what reputation, Mom?” Marvin cried out, finally breaking his silence. “If this gets out, I lose my job! I’ll never work in this state again! And your friends... Mrs. Gable, Mrs. Higgins... they’ll never look at you again! You’ll be the woman who taught her son to beat women! We have to sign it!”
He grabbed the pen, his hand shaking so violently he almost dropped it, and signed his name on the dotted line.
