“I tried, Dominic,” I said, the words falling like lead weights. “I called your office repeatedly. Your executive assistant informed me you were perpetually unavailable. I sent multiple emails to your private server; the messages were systematically bounced back as blocked. I physically came to this building when I was six months pregnant, and your ground-floor security team informed me my access credentials had been permanently revoked.”
Dominic’s head snapped toward his lead counsel, then back to me. “No. I never issued a security lockout against you.”
“Perhaps you didn’t,” I countered smoothly. “But the system executed it regardless.”
A tense murmur rippled through the assembled attorneys. Dominic’s lawyer took a diplomatic step forward. “Mrs. Vance, perhaps it would be highly prudent to conduct this specific conversation in a private office down the hall.”
“No,” I said, the single syllable halting him instantly. My voice remained entirely level, but it filled the room. “You were all perfectly comfortable dissecting my life and my marriage without me ten minutes ago. You can stay and listen to why I breached the perimeter.”
