Chapter 6: Legal Warfare

~ At her Attorney Office ~

Rebecca Torres's office smelled like lemon polish and expensive leather. Vases of fresh-cut flowers perched on minimalist tables—a deliberate softness in an otherwise sharp environment. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcased Manhattan's skyline, a reminder of how high the stakes were in this city.

I fidgeted with my wedding ring—still on my finger despite everything. Old habits.

"Tell me everything," Rebecca said, her dark eyes assessing me over tortoiseshell glasses. "And I mean everything, Aria. The Waltons have already assembled their legal team."

Already. Of course they had. I'd barely slept since walking out of the mansion yesterday, and they'd already mobilized their army.

"My husband slept with my sister." The words still felt surreal, like recounting someone else's tragedy. "I caught them in his study, in our home."

Rebecca didn't flinch. She'd heard worse, I supposed. She just nodded and made notes in an expensive leather-bound notebook, her Mont Blanc pen scratching across the paper.

"The prenup has an infidelity clause?" she asked.

"Yes. Section eight, paragraph three." At her raised eyebrow, I added, "I memorized it after I found them. I couldn't sleep."

"Smart," she murmured, flipping through the prenup copy I'd brought. She traced a manicured finger down the relevant section. "This is solid. Michael's infidelity invalidates the financial restrictions."

Hope flickered to life in my chest. "So I'm entitled to—"

"In theory, yes." She closed the document with a sigh. "But Aria, you need to understand something about the Waltons."

She stood, moving to the window. Sunlight caught on her chunky gold bracelet as she gestured toward the city below.

"See that building with the blue glass? Walton property. The copper-topped one to the left? They own the top ten floors. Three banks, a tech company, and two media outlets all answer to Nelson Walton."

My stomach sank. "You're saying they'll use their influence."

Rebecca turned, her expression softer than I expected. "The Waltons never lose. They'll throw everything at you—their money, influence, and ruthlessness. I've gone up against them twice in my career. Both times, my clients settled for pennies on the dollar rather than continue fighting."

"I can't just give up." My voice cracked. "Five years of my life—"

"I'm not suggesting surrender," she said, returning to her desk. "I'm telling you to prepare for war. A dirty, painful, exhausting war."

My phone buzzed. Michael. Again. Sixty-seven missed calls since yesterday. I silenced it, shoving it deep into my purse.

"What's our first move?" I asked.

Rebecca smiled for the first time—sharp, predatory. "We file first. Today. We control the narrative. We select the venue. And we make the infidelity public before they can spin it."

My heart raced. "Make it public?"

"The Waltons thrive in shadows, Aria. Secrets are their currency." She leaned forward. "By this afternoon, their attorneys will approach with an initial settlement offer. It will be insultingly low. They'll tell you it's generous given the prenup. It's not."

"When I left, Elizabeth threatened me. Said I'd regret not handling this quietly."

Rebecca snorted. "Of course she did. That's step one in the Walton playbook. Intimidate, isolate, then lowball."

The office phone buzzed, and her assistant's voice filled the room. "Ms. Torres? There's a Mr. Lancaster from Dewey, Holcomb, and Ward on line one. Says it's regarding the Walton matter."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow at me. "Right on schedule. Want to listen in?"

I nodded, and she put the call on speaker.

"Rebecca Torres." Her voice shifted to smooth professional detachment.

"Rebecca, Gregory Lancaster." The man's voice oozed false camaraderie. "I understand you're representing Aria Campbell-Walton in her... marital dispute with Michael."

"I am." Rebecca's eyes never left my face. "Though 'dispute' seems a gentle word for catching your husband having sex with your sister."

A beat of uncomfortable silence. "Yes, well. These situations are always complex. I'm calling because Michael is eager to resolve this amicably and quickly."

"How thoughtful," Rebecca replied, steel beneath her politeness.

"We're prepared to offer Mrs. Walton a very generous settlement." Paper shuffled on his end. "Two million dollars, the Manhattan apartment, and her personal effects from the main residence."

I choked back a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. The apartment was a one-bedroom pied-à-terre Michael kept for late work nights—worth barely a million. And two million dollars? The watch on Michael's wrist cost nearly that much.

Rebecca's face remained impassive. "That's your opening offer? For the wife of five years who caught your client in flagrante delicto with her sister?"

"Given the terms of the prenuptial agreement—"

"Which specifically addresses infidelity, rendering its restrictions void." Rebecca's voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "Gregory, if that's your serious offer, then you're wasting both our time. My client is entitled to half the marital assets. That's north of fifty million, not including business interests."

"The prenup explicitly excludes Halgate Group holdings," Lancaster countered.

"But not the dividends received during the marriage," Rebecca shot back without missing a beat. "Nor the four properties purchased, the investment portfolio they jointly managed, or the art collection valued at twelve million."

Another pause. I could almost hear Lancaster recalibrating.

"I'll relay your position to my client," he finally said. "But Mrs. Walton should understand our offer reflects Michael's generosity despite her... abrupt departure."

"My client caught her husband with her sister," Rebecca emphasized each word. "There's nothing 'abrupt' about removing oneself from that situation."

"We'll be in touch," Lancaster said stiffly before hanging up.

Rebecca leaned back in her chair. "And so it begins."

My hands trembled. "That was their first move?"

"A standard Walton opening. Insult wrapped as generosity." She tapped her pen against the desk. "They know the prenup's infidelity clause works against them. They'll try another angle soon."

"Like what?"

"If I were them?" Her eyes narrowed. "I'd claim you knew about Jessica, that you tacitly approved or even encouraged it. They'll say you're only objecting now to leverage a better settlement."

My stomach lurched. "That's absurd! I would never—"

"I know. But they'll say it anyway." She studied me. "Any skeletons in your closet they might drag out? Old relationships? Financial troubles? Career missteps? Anything they could twist?"

I thought about my life before Michael—my middle-class upbringing, student loans, the graphic design jobs I'd abandoned to support Michael's career. Nothing scandalous, but plenty they could distort.

"I'm not perfect," I admitted. "But there's nothing criminal or shameful."

"They don't need shameful. They just need leverage." She closed her notebook. "The Waltons fight dirty, Aria. They'll dredge up anyone you've ever dated, every job you've left, every angry text you've sent Michael. They'll paint you as unstable, money-hungry, or worse."

My defiance from yesterday wavered in the face of this cold reality. "So what you're saying is... I can't win."

Rebecca leaned forward, her expression fierce. "I'm saying winning against the Waltons doesn't look like what you think. It's not about getting everything. It's about walking away with enough to rebuild your life on your terms."

I stared down at my ring, twisting it off my finger. The diamond caught the light, fracturing it into tiny rainbows across the desk.

"What's enough?"

"That's for you to decide." She gestured to the ring. "But first, we need to file those papers. Today. Before they can control the narrative."

I placed the ring on her desk with a soft clink. "Do it. Whatever it takes."

Rebecca's smile returned—the smile of someone spoiling for a fight. "The Waltons think their name makes them invincible. Let's prove them wrong."

As I left her office and stepped into the elevator, my phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't Michael.

It was Jessica.

*We need to talk. There's more to this than you know.*

I stared at the message until the elevator doors closed, cutting off my cellular signal and, with it, my sister's plea.

More to this than I knew? I'd seen enough with my own eyes.

The Walton legal warfare had officially begun—and I'd just discovered my own sister might be their secret weapon.