Her sister threw an industrial chemical peel into her face for viral fame, but when the video went viral, a leaked group chat proved her own mother helped buy the acid.

Six months after the criminal trial concluded, the civil judgment was finalized.

Because of the criminal convictions, the civil court ruled entirely in my favor without requiring a full trial.

I was awarded $6.2 million in compensatory and punitive damages against Fallon Ward-Vane and Sibil Ward.

To satisfy the judgment, the court ordered the immediate liquidation of all their remaining assets.

Fallon’s luxury apartment in Manhattan was auctioned off. Her designer wardrobe, her jewelry, and her lingering intellectual property rights were sold off to the highest bidder.

Sibil’s husband filed for divorce shortly after her conviction, leaving her to face financial ruin alone. Her primary home, her vehicle, and her remaining investment accounts were seized to pay the civil judgment.

Every single cent they had ever owned was transferred into my estate account.

I didn't keep the money for myself.

I used $1 million to cover my advanced laser reconstructive surgeries under the care of the top plastic surgeons in the country. Within a year, my scar was reduced to a faint, barely visible line that looked like nothing more than a silver thread along my cheekbone.

I used another $1 million to launch my own independent actuarial and corporate risk consulting firm: Ward Risk Analytics.

Greer joined as my Chief Financial Officer. Within our first quarter, we landed three Fortune 500 corporate clients who valued our relentless, uncompromising approach to risk assessment.

The remaining $4.2 million was placed into a private charitable trust that I established: The Recovery Foundation. The foundation fully funds medical, reconstructive, and legal support for victims of violent assault and chemical attacks who cannot afford high-priced medical care or legal representation.

One afternoon, I received an official letter from the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility.

It was a letter from Fallon, sent through the prison mail system.

I sat in my corner office on the top floor of a new office tower in Financial District, looking out over the Hudson River.

I opened the letter.

Dear Sloan,

The prison library has internet access once a week. I saw the article about your new firm and the foundation. You took everything from me. My life, my marriage, my freedom, my name. Miles divorced me last month. Mom refuses to speak to me from her prison unit in upstate New York. I have nothing left.

I am writing this to ask if you can ever find it in your heart to forgive me. I was sick. I was obsessed with fame. I realize now what I lost.

Please come visit me.

Fallon

I read the letter twice.

Then I folded it neatly, walked over to the paper shredder beside my desk, and fed it through.