Chapter 6: The Ashworths Make Their Move
Grant's legal filing arrived on Wednesday.
Forty-three pages.
His attorney's name was Preston Hale — a man I recognized from the financial press, known for aggressive matrimonial litigation and a talent for delay.
I read every page at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee that went cold before I reached page twelve.
The argument was exactly what Daniel had described.
Grant's legal team claimed I had entered the marriage under a deliberately constructed false identity, that this deception had materially influenced his decision to marry me, and that as a result he was entitled to a financial settlement drawn from Voss Capital assets — specifically, a twenty-two percent equity stake valued at the date of the wedding ceremony.
Twenty-two percent of Voss Capital was just over two hundred million dollars.
I set the document down and called my attorney, Claire Sutton.
"I've read it," she said before I could speak.
"It's creative.
I'll give Hale that."
"Can it succeed?"
"Not a chance.
He knew who you were before the wedding.
We have the Meridian Trace records showing he commissioned the identity search six days before the ceremony.
His own payment records prove it.
The fraudulent misrepresentation argument collapses the moment we introduce that evidence."
"Then why file it?"
"Pressure," Claire said.
"He's hoping you'll settle quietly to avoid the publicity.
A lawsuit against the chairwoman of Voss Capital, alleging she hid her identity from her own husband — that's a story financial press would run with.
He's betting you'd rather write a check than see your name in those headlines."
I thought about Rosalind's voice in the hallway.
*You think this is over?*
"Schedule a response filing for Friday," I said.
"I want the Meridian Trace records attached as exhibit one.
I also want a counterclaim prepared."
"On what grounds?"
"Fraudulent inducement.
He entered this marriage knowing my identity and concealing that knowledge from me.
He used information obtained through an unauthorized breach of my company's confidential data — data that Daniel Forde transmitted illegally.
Grant used that breach to engineer a marriage he intended to leverage financially." I paused.
"I also want a separate civil filing against Daniel Forde for breach of fiduciary duty."
Claire was quiet for a moment.
"That's a strong position," she said.
"It's the accurate one."
"Hale is going to push back hard.
He'll try to reframe the narrative — paint you as a manipulative billionaire who toyed with a working man's emotions."
"Let him try."
"There may be press.
It could get uncomfortable."
"Claire." I looked out the window at the city below.
"I sat in a bedroom in a wedding dress while my husband's mother dropped a bucket of dirty laundry at my feet and told me to learn my place.
Then my husband sl@pped me across the face." I picked up my coffee cup.
Still cold.
I drank it anyway.
"Uncomfortable is not something I'm afraid of anymore."
"Friday it is," she said.
On Thursday evening, Grant called my personal number.
I let it ring four times, then answered.
"Isabelle." His voice was different.
Quieter.
The confidence from the wedding night was gone.
"I think we should talk before this goes further."
"We're past talking, Grant."
"Hale thinks we can reach a number that works for both of us.
Something that keeps this private.
You don't want this story in the press any more than I do."
"I don't particularly mind the press."
A pause.
"My father's house—"
"Is not my concern."
"Isabelle." His voice shifted.
Something harder underneath.
"You're not the only one who can make things difficult.
I have two years of documentation of your false identity.
I have records of every interaction where you misrepresented yourself to my family.
I can make the case that you targeted me deliberately.
That this was a scheme."
I let the silence sit for a moment.
"Grant," I said.
"I have the Meridian Trace invoice with your credit card number on it.
I have the date you received the report.
I have the date you proposed.
I have Daniel Forde's email from the executive inbox, which your attorney is going to argue was obtained legitimately — and which my attorney is going to argue was obtained through corporate espionage." I set my coffee cup down.
"I also have the photograph from the wedding night.
My lip.
The mark on my face." I paused.
"Make whatever case you'd like."
The line was quiet for a long time.
"This isn't who I wanted to be," he said finally.
"I know," I said.
"That's the saddest part."
I ended the call.
Friday morning, Claire filed our response.
May you like
By noon, Hale had requested a sixty-day extension to prepare a reply.
The judge denied it.
