Julian Kross’s threat of a $2 million lawsuit felt like a physical blow. My pension, my small home, all of it would be gone. The sheer injustice of it burned through me.
“He’s bluffing, Grandpa,” Maya insisted after Julian and his assistant finally left, their confident strides echoing on the gravel. “That document looked fake.”
Sienna looked tearful. “But if it’s not? We don’t have that kind of money.”
Chloe was quiet, her gaze fixed on the spot where Julian had been sitting. She knew the reality of Hollywood, the power of money.
That night, a storm rolled in, rattling the windows and drumming rain against the roof. I sat in the dark living room, watching the lightning flash, my mind racing. How could I fight this? A powerful Hollywood machine, armed with forged documents and endless money.
Around eleven o’clock, a faint tapping came from the back door, barely audible over the wind. I froze, my hand reaching for the old baseball bat I kept beside the door. Was it more reporters?
I peered through the peephole. A figure, drenched, stood hunched under the porch light. It was Nora Lin, Victoria’s personal assistant. She looked small, vulnerable.
I unlatched the door cautiously. “Nora? What are you doing here?”
She shivered, her teeth chattering. “I had to come. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let her do this.”
I led her inside, wrapped her in a blanket, and offered her a hot mug of chamomile tea. She clutched it, her hands still trembling.
“She’s awful, Arthur,” Nora whispered, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust. “You don’t know what it’s like. The way she talks to me, to everyone.”
Chloe, Maya, and Sienna had woken up and joined us, their faces reflecting our shared apprehension.
“She’s planning to send you girls away,” Nora blurted out, looking directly at the triplets. Her voice trembled. “After the docuseries airs. To a European finishing school. She said she couldn’t have ‘three grown women cramping her style’ on her property.”
My granddaughters stared, horrified. Their mother, the woman supposedly desperate to reclaim them, never intended to keep them. Nora’s words were Twist 6, a cruel confirmation of Victoria’s true motives.
“And that document Kross showed you,” Nora continued, her voice gaining a firmer edge, “the 2004 guardianship statement? It’s a complete fabrication. He backdated it.”
My heart leaped. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely,” she affirmed, meeting my gaze. “I saw him doing it. He used a special ink pad, a notary stamp he keeps locked in his temporary production trailer. He backdated it three weeks ago, in Los Angeles, not 2004.”
Relief, pure and potent, washed over me, quickly followed by a surge of righteous anger. “They’re forging documents. That’s a felony.”
Nora nodded, her expression grim. “I know. I’m taking a huge risk being here. But I can’t be part of this anymore. She’s evil.”
She stood up, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Victoria keeps all her important papers, her real records, in a safe in her hotel room. I don’t know what’s in there, but it might prove everything. I’ll try to get to it.”
With that, she slipped back out into the pounding rain, vanishing into the night as quickly as she had appeared. Her defection was a lifeline, a desperate hope in the face of Victoria’s relentless assault.
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