“Get up, Merritt. It was a joke. God, you really will do anything for attention.”

(1,500 words)

Three weeks after the canceled wedding, the winter fog settled heavy and damp over the city of Providence.

I sat in a high-backed leather chair inside the corner office of Vance & Associates, looking out at the brick buildings of downtown. My right leg was still encased in a heavy medical brace, resting on a leather footstool, but the preliminary secondary surgery had gone well.

Sitting across from me was Richard Vance, laying three thick blue folders across his polished mahogany desk.

Beside me sat Greer, wearing her dark wool coat, holding a tablet displaying real-time financial tracking data.

"Let's review the current status of the civil litigation, Merritt," Richard began, opening the first folder. "We filed the formal complaint in Rhode Island Superior Court six days ago. The causes of action include intentional battery, tortious interference with economic advantage, and intentional infliction of emotional distress against Sloan Braddock."

"Has she been served?" I asked.

Richard offered a thin, razor-sharp smile. "She was served yesterday afternoon at nine-fifteen, while standing in line at her favorite coffee shop in Boston. The process server made sure to read the primary allegations aloud."

Greer chuckled softly into her coffee mug.

"And the damages?" I continued.

"We have documented $82,000 in direct medical expenses," Richard explained, tapping the second folder. "Plus $65,000 in lost primary commission on the Providence Port inspection, and $120,000 in projected loss of earning capacity over the next six months. Total liquidated damages claimed: $267,000."

I took a slow breath. "Can Sloan pay that?"

"Sloan has zero personal assets," Richard noted coldly. "Her bank account currently holds $1,400. However, because your parents signed as financial guarantors on her lease, her credit cards, and her wedding contracts, they are named as co-defendants under parental liability and joint tortfeasor statutes."

Before I could reply, Richard’s intercom chimed softly.

"Mr. Vance," his secretary’s voice came through the speaker. "Mr. Judson Braddock and Mrs. Blythe Braddock are in the waiting area. They do not have an appointment, but Mr. Braddock states it is an emergency."

Richard looked at me. "Do you want to see them?"

I adjusted my brace on the footstool, my expression entirely calm. "Send them in."

Thirty seconds later, the heavy oak door opened.

My parents walked into the office.

They looked like two people who had aged ten years in three weeks.

My father’s expensive suit looked loose on his frame, his hair unkempt, deep dark circles hollowed beneath his eyes. My mother had stopped styling her hair in its elaborate salon waves; it fell limp around her pale, drawn face. She wasn't wearing her silver gown or her pearl earrings. She wore a plain wool coat, clutching her handbag against her stomach like a shield.

When Blythe saw me sitting in the leather chair with my leg elevated, her eyes welled with sudden, frantic tears.

"Merritt..." Blythe choked out, taking two fast steps toward me before Greer stood up, blocking her path completely.

"Stay behind the desk line, Mrs. Braddock," Greer commanded smoothly.

"Merritt, please!" Blythe wept, dropping her handbag onto the carpet floorboards. "You have to stop this! You have to talk to your lawyers! They served Sloan yesterday! They’re trying to take her apartment! They’re trying to seize your father’s business accounts!"

My father stood behind her, his voice devoid of its old booming authority, sounding thin, raspy, and broken.

"Merritt..." Judson stammered, pulling a crumpled paper from his coat pocket. "Arthur Montgomery canceled all three of our logistics contracts last week. Two of our dry-cleaning locations are facing commercial eviction. The bank froze our business line of credit yesterday because of the pending lawsuit."

I looked at my father.

The same man who had emptied my savings account when I was twenty-one to pay for Sloan’s apartment. The same man who had paid a valet twenty dollars to shove me into a taxi while I lay bleeding on a marble floor.

"Why are you here, Dad?" I asked softly.

"We're your family, Merritt!" Judson cried, stepping closer, his hands shaking frantically. "We made mistakes! We know that now! But you can't destroy your sister's entire life! She's depressed! She hasn't left her room in three weeks! Thatcher's family sent a formal demand for the return of the engagement ring and twenty thousand dollars in canceled vendor fees!"

"Sloan pushed me down twelve stone stairs, Dad," I said, every word dropping like lead onto the mahogany desk between us. "She ruined my knee, she cost me my contract, and then she laughed."

"She didn't mean it!" Blythe shrieked, tears running down her cheeks. "She was stressed! It was her wedding day!"

"And what about my day, Mom?" I asked, looking straight into her weeping face. "What about the six months I have to spend in a wheelchair? What about the surgery I had on Monday? Did you call the hospital once to ask if I survived the anesthesia?"

Blythe froze. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"You called me three times on Monday morning," I continued, my voice steady as steel. "Not to ask about my knee. You called to ask if I would sign an affidavit dropping the corporate card charges so Dad wouldn't face a grand jury indictment."

Judson looked down at his shoes, his face turning a dark, ashamed red.

"Richard," I said, turning my head toward my attorney. "What are our terms for a settlement?"

Richard pulled a crisp white document from the third folder.

"The terms are non-negotiable," Richard declared clearly. "One: Full payment of $267,000 in liquidated damages, secured by a primary lien against the residential property in East Greenwich. Two: A formal, written, notarized apology signed by Sloan Braddock admitting full intentional liability for the assault. Three: A permanent, legally binding order of protection prohibiting all three of you from contacting Miss Braddock."

Judson stared at the white document in sheer horror. "A lien against our house?! We’ll lose everything!"

"Then you shouldn't have raised a daughter who thinks knocking people down stairs is a joke," Greer said coldly, holding the office door open. "Have a nice day, Mr. and Mrs. Braddock."