Chapter 6 - The Court of Public Opinion
I knew Sterling wasn't bluffing about the legal war. Old money like the Vance family had spent generations learning how to use the justice system as a weapon against people who couldn't afford five-hundred-dollar-an-hour defense attorneys. If I fought Eleanor solely in the quiet, sterile halls of a courtroom, her lawyers would bury me in paperwork, injunctions, and character assassinations until I ran out of money and spirit.
I needed an ally who didn't play by corporate rules. I needed someone who knew how to start a fire.
I picked up my phone and dialed the number of my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Gable. She answered on the second ring, her voice buzzing with the suppressed excitement of a neighborhood gossip who had just stumbled onto the story of the century.
"Sarah, honey! I saw that fancy black car parked outside your place," Mrs. Gable said loudly. "Are you alright? Do I need to bring over my husband's hunting rifle?"
"I’m fine, Mrs. Gable," I said, letting out a dry, bitter laugh. "But I need to ask you a favor. That video you took on Tuesday night—the one where Officer Davis put Eleanor in the back of the police car while she was screaming about her country club?"
"Oh, honey, I have it saved in three different cloud folders," she said proudly. "Why? Do the police need it for evidence?"
"The police already have their evidence," I said, my grip tightening on the phone. "I need you to post it online. I want you to put it on Facebook, TikTok, Twitter, and every local news community board in the state. And I want you to tag the Highridge Country Club, Vance Enterprises, and the District Attorney's office."
There was a brief silence on the line, followed by the sharp, rhythmic sound of Mrs. Gable’s fingernails clicking rapidly against her keyboard. "Consider it done, Sarah. What caption do you want?"
I looked out the kitchen window toward the city skyline where Vance Enterprises headquartered its empire. "Millionaire Matriarch Eleanor Vance Arrested for Locking 7-Year-Old Granddaughter in Freezing Wine Cellar to Frame Widowed Mother for Human Trafficking."
By noon, the internet had exploded.
The algorithm, hungry for high-stakes real-life drama involving wealthy hypocrites and innocent children, pushed Mrs. Gable’s video to millions of feeds within hours. The footage of Eleanor Vance—in her immaculate designer clothes and rigid blonde hair—being shoved into a police cruiser while screaming about her donations to the police league became an instant viral sensation.
True-crime creators began dissecting the story. Local investigative reporters, who had previously been too intimidated by the Vance family's legal team to look into Thomas’s estate, began digging into public property records and uncovering the massive debts encumbering Eleanor’s mansion. Thousands of furious comments flooded the Highridge Country Club’s social media pages, demanding that Eleanor be stripped of her membership.
At two o'clock in the afternoon, my phone rang again. An unknown number with a downtown area code flashed on the screen.
"Sarah Vance?" a sharp, confident female voice asked when I answered. "My name is Jessica Ross. I’m the senior managing partner at Ross & Associates. We specialize in high-stakes civil litigation and victims' advocacy."
"If you're looking for a retainer fee, Ms. Ross, you're calling the wrong woman," I replied honestly.
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"I don't want your money, Sarah," Jessica Ross said, and I could hear the fierce smile in her voice. "I just watched a seventy-two-year-old corporate tyrant try to buy her way out of child abuse on the local news. My firm wants to represent you and your children pro bono. We want to join Detective Miller's criminal case with a massive civil suit against Vance Enterprises for fraud, emotional distress, and the immediate release of your husband’s trust fund. We are going to freeze every single bank account Eleanor has before her lawyers can hide a dime."
I felt a hot tear slide down my cheek, but for the first time in years, it wasn't a tear of despair. It was the feeling of the scales of justice finally tipping in my direction. "When can we start?" I asked.
