A local baseball star—loud, arrogant, adored by fans, notorious behind the scenes. I’d read enough headlines to know exactly who he was.
“Grace,” I said carefully, “that man has never once asked about you.”
“I know,” she cried. “But he said he could ruin you.”
My blood went cold.
She rushed on, terrified. “He said he has connections. That he could shut down your shop with one phone call. But he promised he wouldn’t—if I went with him tonight. He needs me there. He wants people to think he raised me. That he’s a family man.”
I dropped to my knees in front of her.
“What else did he promise?”
Her voice broke. “College. A car. A future. He said I’d be part of his brand. That people would love us.”
She looked at me, devastated.
“I already said yes. I thought I had to protect you.”
My heart shattered.
I held her face gently. “Listen to me. No job is worth losing you. You are my world.”
Then I said the words that mattered most:
“Leave this to me.”
⸻
A few hours later, someone pounded on the front door.
Grace froze. “Dad… that’s him.”
I opened the door.
Chase stood there in a designer jacket and sunglasses, even though it was dark. Confidence radiated from him like he owned the place.
“Move,” he said. “We’re late.”
“You’re not coming inside.”
He laughed. “Still playing daddy?”
He spotted Grace behind me and pointed.
“Come on. Cameras are waiting. You’re my redemption story.”
“She’s not your prop,” I snapped. “She’s a child.”
“My child,” he sneered. “And if you get in my way, I’ll bury your shop. Legally.”
That’s when I knew it was time.
“Grace,” I said calmly, “bring me my phone and the black folder from my desk.”
Chase laughed. “Calling the cops? Cute.”
“Oh, I’m not calling the cops,” I said.
Grace returned with the folder.
I opened it and showed him printed screenshots—every threat, every coercive message, every line where he called her a perfect image piece.
His face drained of color.
