“Oh, the girl is definitely Mitchell’s,” Catherine was saying, her voice carrying that distinct, haughty tone. “You should see her. I saw a picture on Facebook. She’s got the Gordon nose and everything. It’s undeniable.”
“But Mitchell says…” Helen started.
“Oh, Mitchell had to get out of that marriage somehow,” Catherine interrupted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Emma was boring. She dragged him down. And she was bleeding him dry with her demands. He needed a clean break. Claiming infidelity was the quickest way to protect his assets. Besides, Natalie is pregnant now, so they can finally have a real family. A legitimate one.”
My blood turned to ice. A legitimate one. My daughter was a prop in their game. A casualty they were happy to ignore.
I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking with a rage so pure it felt like clarity. I hit record.
“Mitchell’s better off,” Catherine continued. “And since he’s not on the birth certificate, he doesn’t have to pay a dime. Emma’s too proud to ask for a paternity test. She knows it would just drag her name through the mud.”
I stopped recording. I had it. Admission of paternity. Admission of conspiracy to defraud.
That night, I called my lawyer, Rachel. She was a scrappy young woman who had taken my case pro bono because she hated bullies.
“Catherine just gave us everything,” I told her, playing the audio file over the speaker.
“This is huge,” Rachel said, her voice crackling with excitement. “We can file for paternity and child support immediately. This proves bad faith. It proves fraud.”
