“We have two options,” she continued. “We can try to negotiate, or we can go on the offensive.”

“I don’t want to negotiate,” I said immediately. “I want her to leave my business alone.”

Sarah smiled slightly, a cold, professional expression.

“Then we draft a formal cease-and-desist,” she said. “And we make sure she understands the criminal consequences of what she’s doing.”

She reached for her desk phone and dialed a number, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Get me a template for an expedited civil harassment and extortion warning,” she told her assistant.

My phone buzzed on the table.

It was 7:45 AM.

The screen showed a text from Megan: “One hour, Clara. I’m holding the phone in my hand.”

I slid the device across the polished wood toward the lawyer.

“She’s starting,” I said.

Sarah Vance glanced at the screen, then looked back at me.

“Let her text,” she said quietly. “Every message she sends right now is just another nail in her own coffin.”

The assistant returned within minutes, carrying three printed copies of the formal warning.