Chapter 6 - Flying Monkeys
Within thirty minutes of hanging up on my father, the barrage began.
Narcissistic families operate like a beehive; when the queen is threatened, the entire colony mobilizes to sting the dissenter back into line. My phone buzzed so violently and continuously that the battery dropped twenty percent in an hour.
First came the extended family group chat—a chat reserved for Thanksgiving planning, birthday photos, and baby announcements. My Aunt Brenda, Mom’s older sister, posted a blistering paragraph:
*‘Maya Vance, I am disgusted to my core. Your mother is currently in bed with cold compresses on her heart while your poor father is weeping in the kitchen. To bring the law into a private family disagreement? To accuse your own mother of stealing money when she gave you life, clothing, and shelter? Your fiancé has poisoned your mind. He is clearly an abusive manipulator who is trying to isolate you from the people who love you. If you go through with these ridiculous charges, consider yourself disowned from the entire Vance-Miller family. No one will attend your wedding. You will walk down that aisle completely alone.’*
Three cousins chimed in with thumbs-up emojis and echoing sentiments: *“Unbelievable,”* *“Family doesn’t sue family,”* *“Maya has always been so dramatic.”*
Julian took my phone out of my hand, took a screenshot of the chat for documentation, and powered the device down completely.
"Don't read it," he said gently, placing his hands on my shoulders. "They are operating on partial information, lies, and decades of conditioned obedience to your mother. Their opinions hold zero currency in our life."
"I know," I murmured, rubbing my temples. "I just... I can't believe how easy it is for them to rewrite reality."
"Because reality is too painful for them to face," Marcus said from behind his desk, gathering the printed affidavits into a crisp leather portfolio. "If they admit your mother is an abusive criminal, they have to admit they stood by and watched her abuse you for twenty years. It's easier to make you the villain than to face their own cowardice."
Marcus checked his gold wristwatch. "I have a meeting with the assistant district attorney at two o'clock. Maya, Julian, go home. Lock the doors. Do not engage with anyone. If anyone shows up at your property, call 911 immediately and cite the emergency protective order case number Hendricks gave you."
Julian and I thanked Marcus and left the building. We stopped by a quiet drive-thru for coffee we didn't drink, our nerves completely frayed. When we pulled into our driveway, Julian’s work phone—his secondary business line that my family didn't have the number for—began ringing in his dashboard mount.
Julian tapped the steering wheel control. "Julian speaking."
"Julian? It’s Sarah from the front reception desk at corporate," a frantic female voice echoed through the car speakers. "I’m sorry to bother you on your PTO, but... there’s a woman here in the lobby. She’s making a massive scene."
Julian’s posture instantly locked. "Who is it, Sarah?"
"She says her name is Chloe Vance. She’s claiming to be your fiancée’s sister, but... Julian, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs that you led her on, that you promised to run away with her, and that Maya is holding you hostage under financial duress. She’s handing out printouts of old text messages to clients in the waiting area!"
My stomach plummeted into an abyss of cold panic. Chloe had driven forty minutes out to Julian’s regional corporate headquarters in White Plains. She was attempting to destroy his professional career.
Julian’s knuckles turned bone-white against the leather steering wheel. His usual gentle calm vanished, replaced by an expression of terrifying, lethal resolve.
May you like
"Sarah," Julian said, his voice deadly quiet and razor-sharp. "Call building security immediately. Have them detain her in the vestibule. Then call the local police department and inform them that an individual is trespassing and harassing employees in violation of an active domestic violence complaint. I am fifteen minutes away."
***
