The CEO Hit My Car And Mocked Me, Now My Injury Attorney Owns His Mansion

The high of firing Greg was sweet, but Vance had warned me that money without purpose was just another form of rot. We met in his glass-walled office to sign the final papers for the disbursement.

"Fifty million is a lot of buying power," Vance said, sliding a thick document across the mahogany desk. "But the charitable foundation setup will protect the bulk of it from taxes while letting you do damage control."

I picked up the pen. "The Miller Defense Fund," I read the header. "For victims of corporate negligence and bullying."

"Strictly proactive," Vance nodded. "We don't just pay bills. We hire sharks like me to bite back. We navigate the nonprofit tax law to ensure every cent goes to the fight."

I signed. The ink was still wet when Vance's assistant knocked on the door. She looked hesitant.

"Mr. Vance? The first application just came through the portal. You might want to see the name."

Vance opened the file, his eyebrows shooting up. He spun the tablet around to face me.

"It's a woman named Elena," Vance said softly. "She was Preston's secretary five years ago. He fired her for getting pregnant and blacklisted her. She's been fighting a legal defense fund battle alone ever since."

I tapped the screen. "Approve it. Full ride."