Natasha's Stance
Friday morning arrived with a text from David: "Dinner is cancelled tonight. I have an emergency meeting with Dad. Don't wait up."
It was perfect. That gave me the evening to finalize everything.
Michelle showed up at noon with her usual fake cheerfulness, but there was something different in her eyes.
"Tasha, we need to talk." She sat down across from me at the kitchen table. "David and I think it's best if you cancel any plans you have this weekend. You've been so confused lately, and we don't want you to embarrass yourself."
I blinked at her with innocent confusion. "Plans? What plans?"
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. "Good. We were worried you might have scheduled something without telling us."
"Why would I do that? You handle my entire schedule, Michelle. You know everything I do." I smiled sweetly at her, watching her squirm.
"Right. Of course." She pulled out her tablet. "So I've been working on the farewell tour itinerary. We're thinking twelve cities, starting in two months. That should give you enough time before..." She trailed off delicately.
"Before I can't remember my own name?" I finished for her, my voice small and broken.
"Tasha, don't say it like that." She reached for my hand, and it took everything in me not to yank it away. "We're trying to preserve your legacy. This tour will be beautiful."
"A beautiful ending," I whispered. Then I looked at her, letting tears fill my eyes. "Michelle, can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Do you think David still loves me? He's been so distant lately. Sometimes I wonder if... if there's someone else."
I watched her face carefully. The flash of guilt was so quick I almost missed it.
"Of course he loves you, Tasha. He's just worried about you. We both are." She squeezed my hand. "You're imagining things. The disease makes you paranoid sometimes."
"You're right. I'm being silly." I wiped my eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Michelle. You're my best friend."
The word "friend" made her flinch.
After she left, I pulled out the burner phone Adrian had given me and called Samuel.
"Everything's ready," he said. "The legal documents are filed and sealed until tomorrow night. The moment you make your announcement, they'll be unsealed and served. David won't know what hit him."
"And the money?"
"Every penny you've transferred is secure in accounts under your maiden name. He can't touch them. The moment the guardianship attempt fails, which of course, will fail, you'll have complete financial independence."
"What about Richmond Records?"
"That's the beautiful part. According to the contracts you signed, if you can prove fraud or coercion, everything reverts to you. Not just the rights to your compositions, but a significant portion of company equity. Your work has been their primary revenue stream for ten years."
I smiled. "So I won't just get my music back. I'll own a piece of the company that stole it."
"Exactly. And I've already had preliminary conversations with three major labels interested in your catalog. You'll be fine, Natasha. Better than fine."
That evening, I went to Steinway Hall for a private rehearsal. The venue was smaller than Carnegie Hall, more intimate, but that was perfect. I wanted to look them in the eyes when I destroyed them.
Margaret was already there, supervising the technical setup. "The livestream is ready. We're estimating over a million viewers based on advance publicity. Every major music journalist will be watching."
"And the surprise guests?"
"Yuri's flight lands at six tomorrow. He'll be backstage with the documents. Dr. Cole will present his findings at eight-fifteen, right before your performance."
I sat at the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys. This instrument had been my salvation through everything; poverty, grief, loneliness, betrayal. Tomorrow it will be my weapon.
I began to play the piece that started everything, the composition I wrote the week after my grandmother died. The piece David had registered under Michelle's name last year, claiming she'd written it as a "tribute to her own late grandmother."
The lies were so elaborate, so cruel.
My phone buzzed. A text from David: "The meeting is taking too long. I probably won't be home tonight. Love you."
I didn't bother to respond.
Another text, this time from Michelle: "Hey! Want to grab breakfast tomorrow? Girl time before your quiet weekend?"
She was checking on me, making sure I wasn't planning anything.
"I can't tomorrow, I’m feeling tired. Maybe next week?" I replied.
"Of course! Rest up, sweetie."
I set my phone down and continued playing, each note a promise of what was coming.
At midnight, I went to David's office one last time. I needed one more piece of evidence, something I'd been looking for all week.
In the back of his filing cabinet, behind folders of tax documents and contracts, I found it: a handwritten ledger.
David's father was old-school. He kept records of everything, and David had inherited the habit.
The ledger detailed every penny they'd made from my compositions over the past ten years. Broken down by song, by licensing deal, by merchandise. The total made me dizzy.
Forty-seven million dollars.
They made forty-seven million dollars from my work while paying me a "salary" of two hundred thousand a year.
I photographed every page, my hands shaking with rage.
At the bottom of the last page, in David's handwriting: "Final extraction timeline: Guardianship by March 1st. Institutionalization by March 15th. Marriage dissolution by April. Total asset acquisition complete by May 1st."
I was a business plan. A liquidation strategy.
I put everything back exactly as I found it and went to bed in the guest room. I couldn't stand the thought of sleeping in our bed one more night.
Tomorrow, I would burn their entire world down.
And I couldn't wait.
