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

The wind whistled through the cardboard I’d taped over the broken window. I hadn't slept. The threat was real, and the lawsuit was a ticking bomb. I dressed in my only clean set of clothes—not the waitress uniform, but a thrift-store blouse—and took the bus downtown.

I walked into three different law offices. The receptionists looked at my cast, my tired face, and the name "Preston Sterling" on the paperwork.

"Conflict of interest," the first one lied. "We don't handle cases of this magnitude," the second said nervously. "Go home, Ms. Miller. You can't win," the third whispered, actually looking sympathetic before closing the door.

I sat on a park bench, the cold seeping into my bones. My stomach rumbled—I hadn't eaten since the crash. I needed free legal aid, but the waiting lists were months long. Even a bankruptcy attorney wouldn't see me without a retainer.

I checked my banking app, hoping for just enough to buy a sandwich.

ACCOUNT STATUS: FROZEN.

I stared at the screen, tapping it frantically. nothing worked. A notification popped up: Pending Litigation Hold - Claimant: Sterling Capital.

He had frozen my assets. Every cent I had saved for rent, for food, for the frozen bank account help I now desperately needed—it was all locked away. I was injured, homeless within days, and starving in a city that bowed to the man who hit me. I was completely alone.