I remembered that night.
My company had been under attack.
A coordinated cyber intrusion targeting one of our banking clients had run for six days. I had slept in fragments, eaten granola bars over keyboards, and stopped a breach that could have exposed millions of customer records.
My mother had used a spare key I never gave her.
She had walked in uninvited.
She had demanded to know why I missed Brittany’s gender reveal brunch.
I told her to leave.
Now she called it a psychological collapse.
“She needs us,” Patricia pleaded. “She needs to come home.”
Judge Whitman looked troubled.
That was the dangerous part.
My family was vile, but they were not stupid.
They had built a believable emotional story around technical lies most people would not understand.
Caldwell seized the moment.
“Your Honor, the respondent has sat here in silence. She has not denied the debt. She has not explained the behavior. We request immediate temporary control over her assets before further harm occurs.”
