My Husband Recruited His Family to Strip My $3.8M Assets Over My Son's Secret Father—Until My Brother Found the Hidden Studio Logs Proving the Truth
The next morning, Ethan sat in my living room, the quiet hum of his laptop the only sound. He looked like he’d been up all night, his usually neat hair a little disheveled. He’d been trying to get into the studio’s archived server logs.
“It’s like hitting a brick wall,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “Every access log from 2014, completely wiped. There’s no digital trace of anything from that year.”
My jaw clenched. That year was critical. That was the year Leo was born.
“They’re covering their tracks,” I said, a bitter taste in my mouth. “Greg knows exactly what he’s doing.”
A sharp knock at the door startled us both. It was a process server, a stern-faced woman holding a thick envelope. She handed it to me without a word.
“Emergency injunction,” she stated, her voice flat. “Against Maya Lin-Bennett. Barring you from stepping onto the Sunset Studios lot, effective immediately.”
My hand trembled as I held the document. It was Greg’s latest move. Locking me out of the very place I had built my career, the place where Lin-Bennett Productions had flourished for years. My own production building, now off-limits.
“This is insane,” I whispered, feeling a surge of impotent rage.
Ethan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. “It’s Julian. He says they’re putting out a statement saying your ‘unprofessional conduct’ is disrupting ongoing projects.”
They were tightening the noose, isolating me completely.
Later that afternoon, I drove Leo to the local pharmacy. His asthma had been acting up, likely from the stress of everything happening. The world outside felt oblivious to my collapsing life. Kids were laughing on bikes, a delivery truck rumbled past, all mundane normalcy.
I waited in line, staring blankly at the rows of vitamins. A woman ahead of me turned, her gaze meeting mine. She was older, with kind eyes and a familiar face.
“Maya? Maya Lin-Bennett?” she asked, a gentle smile appearing.
It was Clara Higgins, a retired set coordinator who had worked on ‘Starlight Bloom,’ Julian and my breakout film, ten years ago. Her hair was now completely white, but the warmth in her eyes was unmistakable.
“Clara,” I said, genuinely surprised. “It’s so good to see you. How have you been?”
“Oh, just about ready to fully retire. These old bones, you know.” She gestured vaguely. “But I still like to get out and about.”
She looked at Leo, who was quietly flipping through a comic book in my arms. “Is this your boy? He’s gotten so big.”
“This is Leo,” I replied, a small smile touching my lips. “He’s ten now.”
“Ten,” Clara mused, a faraway look in her eyes. “Feels like yesterday you and Julian were on that Oregon shoot. Remember the storm? Stranded for days, couldn’t get a flight out.”
My heart gave a sudden, hard thump against my ribs. “Yes, I remember.”
“Crazy times. Good thing I always kept my own records. Had a whole system for every shoot. Call sheets, transport, hotel receipts. Still got those old binders in the garage, collecting dust.” She chuckled softly. “Official studio stuff always got digitized, but I liked having my physical backups.”
My mind raced. “Physical records?”
Clara nodded. “Every single detail. Dates, times, who was where. My own little archive. Got too sick to keep up with the digital stuff, so I just stuck to my old ways.”
“Clara,” I said, a new urgency in my voice, “would you… would you mind if Ethan and I came to look at those records? Specifically from November 2014?”
She blinked, surprised by my sudden intensity, but then her kind smile returned. “Of course, dear. Anytime. Always happy to reminisce about the good old days.”
As I walked out of the pharmacy, Leo’s medication bag clutched in my hand, a flicker of desperate hope ignited within me. Ethan couldn’t find digital records from 2014. But perhaps, Clara Higgins’s dusty garage held a truth that Greg’s digital wipes couldn’t erase.
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