Alle Kapitel von Pregnant By My Ex-Boyfriend's Father: Kapitel 91 – Kapitel 100

Friday afternoon. 4 PM.Senior partner meeting.Held monthly in the main conference room. Mahogany table. Leather chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan.Where careers were made or destroyed.Where junior partners were evaluated, critiqued, dissected.I wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it.But the bathrooms on the sixty-second floor were right next to the conference room.And I had to vomit. Again.Eight weeks pregnant now. Morning sickness wasn't improving.If anything, it was worse.I made it to the bathroom. Vomited quietly. Rinsed my mouth.As I left, I heard voices.The conference room door was cracked open.I should have walked away.I didn't.---"Next item: junior partner evaluations."That was Richard Hartley. Senior partner. Old school. Believed women belonged at home, not in courtrooms.He'd never said it outright. But everyone knew."We have six junior partners up for review," Richard continued. "Let's start with Sterling."My heart stopped.I pressed ag

The medication helped.Not a miracle cure. But enough.By Wednesday, I could eat crackers without immediately vomiting.By Thursday, I managed half a bagel.By Friday—nine weeks pregnant—I felt almost human.Almost.The nausea was still there. Constant background static. But manageable.I could function. Work. Pretend.Small victories.---Friday morning. Peterson trial prep.Conference room. Me, two associates, Peterson himself.Going through witness cross-examination strategy."When they ask about the Cayman account," I said, "you answer: 'That was a legitimate business expense, authorized by the board.' Don't elaborate. Don't defend. Just state fact.""What if they push?" Peterson asked."Then you repeat. 'Legitimate business expense, authorized by the board.' Make them ask a different question.""And if they ask about the board authorization directly?""Then you

Sunday night. 11 PM.Peterson trial started tomorrow.Jury selection. Opening arguments. The beginning of everything.I should have been sleeping.Instead, I was at the dining table. Case files spread everywhere. Notes. Depositions. Strategy memos.Marcus was at the hospital. Emergency surgery. Wouldn't be home until morning.If then.I'd texted him at 9 PM: "Good luck with surgery. Love you."No response.Either he was elbow-deep in someone's chest cavity, or he was still mad.Probably both.We'd barely spoken since the fight yesterday.Polite. Distant. Careful.Both of us walking on eggshells.Both of us pretending everything was fine.It wasn't fine.Nothing was fine.---At midnight, I gave up on the case files.Couldn't focus.Too many thoughts. Too much anxiety.Trial tomorrow. Marcus's new schedule starting in two weeks. T

Wednesday. Day three of the Peterson trial.Jury selection had taken two days. Opening arguments this morning. First witness this afternoon.And somehow, in the middle of all that, Mom had scheduled lunch."Today?" I'd said when she texted. "Mom, I'm in the middle of a trial.""Court breaks for lunch. You have to eat. Bring Marcus. 12:30. My house. Non-negotiable."So here I was. In a taxi. Heading to my parents' house in the middle of the biggest trial of my career.Marcus was meeting me there. Coming from the hospital.We'd barely spoken since Monday's fight.Polite texts. "How's trial?" "How's your day?" "Love you."But no real conversation.No resolution.Just... existing in the same marriage. Separately.---I arrived at 12:25.Mom opened the door. "You're early.""Court let out at noon. Traffic was light.""Marcus?""On his way. Said he'd be here by 12:30."

Friday afternoon. Week ten, day five.Trial day twelve.Closing arguments.Everything came down to this.I stood in the courtroom. Black suit. Heels. Briefcase full of notes I'd memorized.Peterson sat at the defense table. Confident. Smug.Guilty as hell.But that wasn't my problem.My problem was convincing twelve jurors that the prosecution hadn't proved their case beyond a reasonable doubt.The jury filed in. Twelve faces. Twelve strangers who held my future.Judge Martinez took her seat. "Ms. Sterling. Your closing argument."I stood.Walked to the jury.Made eye contact with each of them.And began.---"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.For the past twelve days, you've heard testimony. Seen documents. Listened to expert witnesses.The prosecution wants you to believe that Harold Peterson is a thief. That he stole fifteen million dollars from his own co