Chapter 14 - THE TWENTY-FIVE-MILLION-DOLLAR FACE
Celeste’s complaint was forty-eight pages.
She claimed I had destroyed her modeling contracts.
Her social standing.
Her emotional health.
Her future earnings.
Her face.
The photos showed a tiny scar near her eyebrow.
The fall into mud had caused most of it.
Still.
She demanded twenty-five million.
Her attorney went on television.
He called me “a billionaire’s daughter who believes violence has no consequences.”
That line worked.
For a while.
People argued.
Had my punch been self-defense?
Had I used too much force?
Did wealth change the story?
Fair questions.
I hated them.
Because unlike Celeste, I did not want immunity.
My attorney asked.
“Do you regret punching her?”
“Yes.”
He looked surprised.
“You do?”
“I wish I had gotten away without hitting her.”
“That’s good.”
“But I’m not sorry I defended myself.”
“That’s also good.”
At deposition, Celeste wore pale makeup and a soft sweater.
Victim styling.
She cried.
Then my attorney played the full video.
Slap.
Hair pull.
My attempt to twist away.
Her second grab.
Punch.
Fall.
He paused.
“Were you touching Ms. Mercer when she struck you?”
Celeste said.
“No.”
Video said yes.
He zoomed.
Her hand was tangled in my braid.
She changed her answer.
“I don’t remember.”
Then he asked about the scar.
Her surgeon testified it could be corrected for under four thousand dollars.
Her modeling contracts?
None.
Future earnings?
Speculative.
Then Celeste’s attorney made a mistake.
He asked me why I walked toward my father after the fall instead of helping Celeste.
I answered.
“Because she had just insulted him, hit me, pulled my hair, and fallen into a puddle surrounded by two hundred adults.”
A juror smiled.
Celeste saw it.
She exploded.
“She wanted me dead!”
The courtroom froze.
Her attorney whispered.
“Celeste.”
She stood.
“She took everything!”
Judge.
“Sit down.”
“My fiancé!”
“Sit down.”
“My father!”
“Ms. Harrow.”
“My company!”
The judge ordered the jury out.
Celeste pointed at me.
“You think this ends here?”
Her own attorney closed his eyes.
The threat was now on the record.
(To be continued)
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