The Price of Fabric
The window rolled down, and I looked out at my mother-in-law. She looked remarkably small standing on the doorstep of a house she had spent the last two years treating like her personal kingdom.
“You,” Teresa hissed, marching toward the car. “You think you can just throw my son out? We will sue you for every peso you have! Half of this belongs to him!”
I didn’t get out of the car. I didn’t need to. I simply handed a neatly stapled packet of documents through the window.
“Those are the prenuptial agreements your son signed, Teresa,” I said, my voice as calm as it had been the night before in the kitchen. “Everything bought before and during the marriage under my corporation remains entirely mine. Alejandro leaves with exactly what he brought into this marriage: nothing.”
Teresa’s eyes darted over the legal stamps, the color draining from her face. “You trapped him…”
“No, I carried him,” I corrected her gently. “But the free ride is over. And as for the clothes you destroyed…”
I tapped my phone screen, playing the crystal-clear audio of her voice from the night before: ‘If my son had any sense, he would’ve put everything in his name…’
“That video, along with the receipts for the white Santa Fe dress and the silk blouse, has already been filed with a property damage and harassment report,” I said. “The cost of those luxury items will be deducted from Alejandro’s final severance package. Which, after the legal fees for his termination for cause, comes out to exactly zero.”
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