Henderson, a man who wore suits that cost more than my car and had a smile like a shark sensing blood. “Is this enough?” I asked him. “Ms.
Bennett,” he said, leaning back. “This isn’t just enough. This is a demolition crew.”
We filed on a Monday morning.
The lawsuit was a masterpiece of aggression: Claims of fraud, elder financial abuse, illegal eviction, and theft by deception. Thanks to Julia’s recorded admission, and Paige’s social media posts flaunting the luxuries they “earned” (a new BMW, a trip to Tulum) while claiming poverty, the court granted an emergency motion. They froze everything.
The joint accounts. The house title. Even Diane’s personal savings.
A week later, Diane called. She didn’t sound syrupy this time. She sounded like a cornered animal.
“Why is there a sheriff at my door serving me papers?” she shrieked. “You’re trying to bankrupt me?”
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