Chapter 5 - THE DOCTOR WHO NEVER MET ME
The psychologist was Dr. Alan Pritchard.
He had never examined me.
He had been paid by a consulting company owned by Martin Vale’s wife.
Dana called the report “manufactured incompetence.”
It was designed to look medical enough to scare a bank, a trustee, or a judge.
The wording was careful.
“Emotionally labile.”
“Potentially impulsive.”
“Stress-reactive.”
Terms broad enough to weaponize any normal reaction.
If I cried, unstable.
If I got angry, unstable.
If I fought back, unstable.
If I stayed calm, manipulative.
A perfect trap.
Dr. Pritchard denied writing the final version.
He admitted preparing a template based on information Genesis provided.
Then Priya recovered text messages from Jackson’s tablet backup.
Genesis:
Emma is getting suspicious.
Jackson:
About what?
Genesis:
Money.
Jackson:
Handle it.
That line hurt.
Handle it.
Not explain it.
Handle me.
Another message.
Genesis:
If she keeps refusing, we may need the assessment.
Jackson:
I don’t want that.
Genesis:
Then control your wife.
Jackson:
I’m trying.
There was no direct confession to forgery.
But there was complicity.
He knew enough to know something was wrong.
He chose convenience.
We filed suit.
Fraud.
Conversion.
Breach of fiduciary duty.
Civil conspiracy.
Assault and battery.
Jackson counterclaimed for defamation and claimed I staged the dinner confrontation.
Then the security footage surfaced.
Richard had the backup server.
The video showed everything.
Jackson lifting the plate.
The swing.
Impact.
My collapse.
Genesis stepping over the broken porcelain to demand rent.
No ambiguity.
Jackson’s lawyer withdrew the “provocation” language two days later.
The internet got the footage anyway.
I hated that.
People replayed the worst five seconds of my life for entertainment.
Some defended me.
Some asked why I stayed.
Some said I looked too calm afterward.
Strangers always imagine they know how a victim should behave.
Then Jackson requested a recorded meeting through counsel.
He looked different.
No navy suit.
No alcohol.
No swagger.
“I didn’t know Mom forged the deed.”
“I believe that.”
He looked surprised.
“I knew she wanted the apartment.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you’d eventually agree.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re married.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I hear how that sounds.”
Then he said:
“I took money.”
“How much?”
“Fifteen thousand.”
The notebook.
J.C. — 15.
“From my trust?”
“I didn’t know it was your trust.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Consulting reimbursement.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
Of course.
Then he gave us something valuable.
Genesis kept a second ledger.
Digital.
Encrypted.
On a laptop stored at Richard’s lake house.
Law enforcement recovered it.
Priya broke the first layer in forty-eight hours.
Then she called me.
“Emma, you need to see this.”
The ledger did not only contain my money.
There were eleven other names.
May you like
Eleven families.
Genesis had been doing this for years.
