You would think the utter humiliation in the backyard would have been enough to teach Derek a lesson in humility. But bruised egos of privileged men rarely heal into wisdom; they usually fester into vindictiveness.
Three weeks later, the physical damage was evident. Leo’s arm was bandaged, healing from second-degree burns. Derek had undergone extensive orthopedic surgery to repair an acute tear in his right labrum and was locked in a rigid abduction sling.
But Derek was not contrite. Supported by Frank’s wealth, Derek hired a ruthless downtown law firm. A thick envelope arrived at our house via certified mail. It was a civil lawsuit citing “aggravated assault, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and disproportionate use of lethal martial arts force.”
Worse, the Vances began a whisper campaign. Frank used his influence at the local country club and the Rotary meetings to spread malicious rumors about my floral business. Suddenly, Petals & Pine was losing corporate contracts. Suppliers started demanding cash up front. They were trying to starve us out, paint me as an unhinged, violent psychopath who had ambushed a “playful family gathering,” and bleed us dry with legal fees.
“They want a war of attrition,” Leo said one evening, analyzing the legal documents spread across our dining table. His hazel eyes were sharp behind his repaired glasses. “They think because you retired, you lost your fangs. They think they can out-spend and out-litigate us.”
I stood by the window, looking out into the dark street. I thought about the burn scars on Leo’s arm. I thought about the years I had spent keeping my past a secret to fit into their narrow definition of acceptable behavior.
“They forgot one crucial detail, Leo,” I said softly, turning away from the window.
“What’s that?”
“I didn’t retire because I was beaten. I retired because I was bored.”
I walked down into the basement. I bypassed the boxes of winter clothes and holiday decorations, heading straight for the back corner. I knelt before the heavy cedar chest. It took a moment to remember the combination to the brass padlock, but when it clicked open, the smell of aged leather and polished brass filled the air.
Inside were four heavy, gold-plated championship belts. Beneath them lay a small, battered black phone book.
I carried the phone book upstairs, picked up my cell phone, and dialed a number I hadn’t called in three years. It rang twice before a gruff, instantly recognizable voice answered.
“Maya? Kid, is that you?” asked the President of the premier global MMA organization.
“It’s me, Boss,” I said, a dangerous smile touching the corners of my mouth. “I need a favor. And I think I have a story that your PR department is going to absolutely love.”
I didn’t just want to win a lawsuit. I wanted to salt the earth so nothing Derek Vance ever planted would grow again.
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Chapter 7: The Sovereign Champion
At my in-laws’ BBQ, my brother-in-law held red-hot barbecue tongs inches from my throat, mocking: “Let’s see if the little princess flinches.” When my husband defended me, Derek hurled him violently into a 400-degree steel smoker and hissed: “Sit down, sweetheart, or you’re getting a matching burn.” They never knew I had a secret I’d buried years ago. He grabbed my wrist… and that’s when the entire afternoon shattered.
Part 6 of 7
