Chapter 7 - The Anonymous Benefactor
With Mark behind bars awaiting trial, I thought the hardest part was over. I was wrong.
Two weeks later, I sat at the kitchen table of a temporary rental apartment downtown. Bills were piling up. Mark had frozen our joint bank accounts through an emergency civil injunction before his arrest, leaving me with less than eight hundred dollars in my personal account.
David Ross, my attorney, sat across from me, drinking a cup of black coffee.
"He's playing dirty, Clara," David said grimly. "Because Mark can't get out on bail, his legal team is trying to starve you out financially. They're tying up the house title, freezing the joint funds, and filing civil countersuits against Dr. Patel and the hospital for defamation."
"I have to pay Sophie's medical bills," I said, holding a stack of invoices from the pediatric orthopedic specialists. "Her physical therapy starts next week. She needs specialized psychological counseling three times a week. I can't afford this, David. I might have to go back to work full-time, but I can't leave her alone."
My phone chimed on the table. It was an email notification from my bank.
I tapped the screen absently, expecting another overdraft warning.
Instead, the screen read: Direct Deposit Notification: $250,000.00.
I stared at the screen, my heart stopping. "David... look at this."
I handed the phone to him. David looked at the six-figure balance, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "What is this? Did you sell an asset?"
"No," I gasped. "I don't have anything worth that much!"
David quickly dialed his office, putting his secretary on speakerphone. "Judy, check the wire transfer origin for Clara Ellison’s trust account immediately."
A few moments later, Judy replied, "It came from a private family trust registered in Delaware, Mr. Ross. The sender attached a memorandum note."
"What does the note say?" David asked.
"It says: For Clara and Sophie. To ensure justice has no price tag. From E.V."
I frowned, searching my memory. "E.V.? I don't know anyone with those initials."
"I do," David said slowly, a soft, respectful smile touching his lips. "Eleanor Vance."
"Vance?" I repeated. "As in... Mark's defense lawyer, Julian Vance?"
"Eleanor Vance is Julian Vance’s eighty-two-year-old mother," David explained, his eyes sparkling with grim satisfaction. "She’s the matriarch of the Vance family and the principal founder of the Vance Philanthropic Foundation for Abused Women and Children. Julian might be a high-priced mercenary selling his soul to defend monsters, but his mother is one of the most fierce child advocates in the state."
David's phone chimed with a follow-up text message from Eleanor Vance’s personal secretary:
Mrs. Vance has instructed our foundation to cover all legal, medical, and housing expenses for Clara and Sophie Ellison through the end of the criminal trial. Furthermore, Julian Vance has officially withdrawn as lead defense counsel due to 'irreconcilable ethical conflicts' with his firm's board.
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I covered my mouth with both hands, tears of overwhelming relief streaming down my face.
Mark’s high-powered defense firm had just abandoned him, his legal strategy was in tatters, and the very foundation built by his lawyer's family was now funding my fight for justice.
