Chapter 5 - The Family TrapWhile Savannah was panicking over federal indictments, Grant and Diane Voss were discovering what life looked like when they couldn't leech off a self-made woman.
According to private investigator reports provided by Marcus’s team, Grant and Diane had attempted to check into a luxury five-star hotel in downtown Denver, only to find that every single credit card in their possession—all linked to Ryan’s secondary accounts—was permanently declined. When they tried to access their condo, the locks had already been changed by federal marshals executing the asset-freezing warrant.
Desperate, Grant decided to try his usual intimidation tactics.
On a snowy Tuesday afternoon, as I was stepping out of my secure corporate parking garage accompanied by two private security guards, a familiar figure lunged out from behind a concrete pillar.
"Claire! You ungrateful little bitch!"
Grant Voss—looking disheveled, his expensive overcoat unbuttoned in the freezing wind—rushed toward me, his face purple with rage.
My security guards moved with lightning speed, pinning Grant against the concrete wall before he could come within three feet of me.
"Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am?!" Grant roared, struggling against the guards. He glared at me, his eyes wild with fury. "You think you can ruin my family? You think you can throw us out on the street like dogs over a little family dispute?!"
I stepped closer, my expression carved from ice. I didn't flinch. The man who had burned my skin with a cigarette was now pathetic, powerless, and cornered.
"A little family dispute?" I asked softly, my voice cutting through the freezing air. "Grant, you assaulted a pregnant woman. Your son held my wrists while you burned me. And you honestly believed there would be no consequences?"
"It was a joke! A lesson in respect!" Grant snarled, spitting flecks of snow onto the ground. "Ryan is your husband! You belong to this family! You owe us everything you have!"
"I owe you nothing," I said calmly. "And by tomorrow morning, the security footage of New Year's Eve—along with the medical records of my burn—will be submitted directly to the District Attorney's office as evidence in your upcoming felony assault trial."
Grant went completely rigid. The color drained from his face, and for a terrifying second, his chest heaved violently. "You... you wouldn't."
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"Try me," I replied. I nodded to my guards. "Escort him off the property. And if he comes within five hundred feet of me again, call the police."
As Grant was dragged away, cursing and screaming obscenities into the winter wind, I felt a profound sense of lightness. The monsters who had haunted my home for three years were finally being exposed to the harsh, unforgiving light of justice.
