When Julian released the raw, unedited audio from the Ashford Manor security system to major news outlets, the internet didn’t just turn on Natalie—it obliterated her.
The hashtag #JusticeForMarianne trended number one nationwide within two hours. Natalie’s online sponsor deals began dropping like flies. Skincare brands, fashion houses, and tea companies released public statements terminating their contracts with her, citing zero tolerance for bullying and physical aggression.
By 2:00 PM, I was sitting in the executive board room on the top floor of the Ashford Trust building in downtown Chicago. Julian sat to my right, immaculate in his charcoal suit. Across the long mahogany table sat my father, Richard, my mother, Eleanor, and a visibly trembling Natalie.
Beside them sat Brandon Miller—Natalie’s wealthy fiance—and his parents, Arthur and Evelyn Miller. The Millers looked furious, their arms crossed tightly over their designer coats.
“This is an outrage!” Father slammed his fist on the glass table. “Marianne, you leaked private security audio to the tabloid media! You are destroying your sister’s reputation! She’s lost three major brand deals today worth over two hundred thousand dollars!”
“Correction, Mr. Ashford,” Julian interrupted smoothly, opening a thick blue binder. “Your daughter lost those contracts because she committed premeditated battery against my client. The audio merely revealed the truth.”
“We aren’t here to discuss social media nonsense,” Arthur Miller, Brandon’s father, snapped. He was a prominent real estate mogul with sharp features and a cold demeanor. “We are here because my family’s name is being dragged through the mud. Brandon’s father-in-law is supposed to be a respected businessman, yet I discover this morning that Richard Ashford doesn’t even own the venue where the wedding was hosted!”
Richard’s face drained of color. “Arthur, please, I can explain—”
“You told us you were paying for the estate!” Evelyn Miller spat, glaring at my mother. “You told us the Ashford Family Trust was worth fifty million dollars and that Richard was the sole administrator!”
“He isn’t,” I spoke up, my voice steady, cutting through the shouting.
Everyone in the room turned to look at me. I wore a tailored cream blazer over a dark dress, my hair pulled back into a sleek, professional bun. There was no trace of the dripping, humiliated girl from the fountain.
“My father has not been an administrator of the Ashford Trust since 2021,” I said, looking directly at the Millers. “Grandmother Rose removed him due to severe financial mismanagement. The fifty-million-dollar trust portfolio is owned ninety percent by me, ten percent in a restricted lockbox for community preservation.”
Natalie gasped, her eyes wide with shock. “What?! You’re lying! Dad pays for everything! He pays for my car, my apartment, my clothes!”
“No, Natalie,” I replied quietly. “I pay for your car. I pay for your apartment. I paid for your credit card bills every month because Father begged me not to let you drown in debt.”
“Marianne, don’t do this…” Mother pleaded, her voice cracking as she reached across the table toward me. “We are your family. We did everything for you!”
“You let me sit at the children’s table until I was twenty-five,” I reminded her coldly. “You forced me to give up my scholarship funds to pay for Natalie’s private modeling tutors. And on Saturday, you stood by and laughed while your favorite daughter pushed me into cold water and ruined the last gift Grandmother Rose ever gave me.”
I signaled to Julian. He slid three legal files across the table—one to Richard, one to Natalie, and one to the Millers.
“These are the formal auditing notices,” Julian explained. “Effective immediately, Ms. Ashford is revoking all discretionary allowances previously granted to Richard and Eleanor Ashford. The credit cards issued under the trust umbrella are canceled. The lease on Natalie Ashford’s luxury penthouse downtown will not be renewed at the end of this month.”
Natalie screamed, jumping out of her chair. “You can’t kick me out of my apartment! Where am I supposed to live?!”
“You can rent a place you can afford with your own money, Natalie,” I said. “If you can find a job.”
Brandon Miller stood up slowly, looking at Natalie as if he were seeing a beggar. He took off his engagement ring band and dropped it onto the table in front of her.
“Brandon?” Natalie whispered, her voice trembling. “What… what are you doing?”
“My father’s firm cannot be associated with a family facing bankruptcy and public assault charges,” Brandon said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “The wedding is officially off. We’ll be sending our legal team to collect the engagement ring.”
“Brandon, no! I love you! It was just a mistake!” Natalie sobbed, grabbing his sleeve, but Brandon pulled his arm away with disgust and walked out of the boardroom, followed closely by his parents.
