Chapter 6 - The Mediation Trap
The next twenty-four hours were agonizing. I moved into my new, secure apartment, ignoring the hundreds of hateful messages filtering into my social media requests. I called my parents, ensuring they locked their doors and ignored the phone calls. I drafted my statement. I armored my mind.
The following afternoon, I walked into the private conference room of Mr. Sterling’s downtown office. The room smelled of old leather and impending doom. I sat on one side of the long glass table, my hands folded neatly over a manila folder. Mr. Sterling sat beside me, looking impeccably sharp.
Ten minutes late, the heavy wooden doors swung open.
Derek swaggered in, looking like a king returning to his conquered lands. Behind him was Brenda, practically vibrating with smug satisfaction, and their lawyer, a nervous-looking man in a cheap suit named Mr. Vance.
Derek threw himself into the leather chair across from me, crossing his arms. He looked at me with a mixture of disgust and absolute triumph.
“Well, well,” Derek sneered, leaning over the table. “Look who finally decided to come out of hiding. Did the pressure get to be too much, Chloe? Ready to give me my money back before the police come knocking on your door?”
The air in the room instantly curdled. Brenda laughed sharply from the back. “She thought she could scam us and get away with it. You’re going to pay our legal fees too, you little thief.”
Mr. Sterling didn’t miss a beat. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, looking at the opposing counsel. “Mr. Vance, I assume your clients are here to present their terms for the dissolution of this extremely brief union?”
Mr. Vance cleared his throat, pulling out a thick stack of papers. “Yes. My client is willing to drop the public allegations and forego pressing criminal charges for theft, provided Ms. Chloe returns the full $30,000 wedding gift, plus an additional $15,000 to cover emotional distress and wedding expenses. Furthermore, she must sign a non-disclosure agreement regarding the events of Sunday morning.”
I actually laughed. The sound was dry and hollow in the large room. “You want forty-five thousand dollars. All of it. Including my parents’ money.”
“You owe us!” Derek exploded, slamming his hand on the table. “You ruined my reputation by running away! You’re lucky I’m letting you off this easy. Sign the papers, hand over the check, and maybe I’ll take that Facebook post down before your parents’ business goes bankrupt from the bad reviews!”
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There it is, I thought. The extortion.
I looked at Derek, really looked at him. I saw the weakness behind the rage, the pathetic little man hiding behind his mother’s skirt.
