She Stole My Milk. Then Her Lawyer Sent a Demand Letter.

"I will bury you in defamation suits until you die in a cardboard box!" Preston bellowed into the live microphone.

The entire country club went dead silent. Even Beatrice stopped yelling. They were all staring in horror at the vicious, unhinged man on the stage.

"You can't prove I forged those medical bills!" Preston continued to shout, completely losing his mind. "You signed a legal confession! The judge won't care if my mother faked her heart attack, because legally, I own you!"

I took a slow step back, letting him hang himself with his own words.

"I pay the doctor! I own the collection agency! I write the laws in this town!" Preston screamed, his face purple with rage. "You're going to lose your house, your insurance, and your pathetic little business!"

He stood there, chest heaving, waiting for me to cower.

Instead, I just smiled.

"Did you get all that?" I asked, looking past him.

Preston blinked, confused. He looked out at the silent, horrified crowd. Then, a sharp screech of audio feedback echoed from the back of the room.

"We got it loud and clear, Mr. Vance," a deep, authoritative voice boomed over the venue's secondary PA system.

Preston spun around. A man in a sharp grey suit stood near the audio booth next to Joanne. He held a secondary microphone in his hand.

"Who the hell are you?" Preston demanded, his voice suddenly trembling.

"I'm District Attorney Miller," the man replied calmly, walking down the center aisle toward the stage. "And I'd like to thank you for clarifying the details of your legal malpractice and extortion ring so thoroughly in front of fifty witnesses."