The receptionist pointed me toward a glass-walled conference room on the third floor.

A tall woman in a dark grey suit was standing by the window, a cup of coffee in her hand.

She turned as I entered, her expression neutral but observant.

“Clara?” she asked, extending a hand. “I’m Sarah Vance.”

I shook her hand, finding her grip firm and reassuring.

“Thank you for seeing me so early,” I said, setting my folder on the long mahogany table.

“Your email was quite specific,” she said, gesturing for me to sit. “And the evidence you attached is… compelling.”

I opened the folder, spreading out the screenshots of Megan’s texts, the video from Lauren, and the bank statements.

“She’s going to file the complaint in less than two hours,” I said, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be.

Sarah Vance looked at the documents, her eyes scanning the lines with practiced speed.

“This isn’t just an empty threat, Clara,” she said, looking up at me. “But it is also a textbook case of extortion.”

She tapped her pen against the table, the sound rhythmic and sharp.