Dead Man's Winter: Jacob Reed

Chapter 9: The Lawsuit

Julie waited four more days.

Four days of staring at her phone, refreshing the video stats, reading every comment like a gambler checking losing tickets. The views were still climbing. The hashtag still trended in two states. But Jacob never called. Never texted. Never even blocked her number, which somehow felt worse. He just let the messages pile up like junk mail.

"He's not going to break." Julie sat at the kitchen table, her laptop open to a spreadsheet of debts she didn't want to look at. Celeste hovered by the window, her coffee going cold in her hands. Arnold sat across from Julie, his face set in the permanent scowl he wore when the world refused to obey him.

"Then we force him." Arnold slapped the table, rattling Julie's mug. "Stop waiting around like a kicked dog. Sue the bastard. Take him to court and make him bleed in front of everyone."

"Dad, it's not that simple." Julie's voice was flat, exhausted. "He has lawyers. Good ones. If I file and lose, I owe him money I don't have."

"Then don't lose." Arnold leaned forward, his thick forearms braced on the table. "You think those judges don't watch the news? You think they don't see what he did? A man leaves his wife and kid with nothing, then buys a mansion two days later? That's not a husband. That's a criminal. The court will see that."

Julie wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that public outrage could translate into legal victory, that the same wave of sympathy that had given her two million views could also give her half of Jacob's fortune. It was a comforting lie, and she wrapped herself in it like a blanket.

She called Patrick that afternoon.

"I want to file." Julie didn't bother with pleasantries. Her voice was flat, businesslike. "I want to take Jacob to court and demand a split of his assets."

A pause crackled down the line. When Patrick spoke, his voice was careful, measured. "Julie, I've been meaning to call you. I've spent the past week looking into this. Pulled the divorce records. Checked the lottery claim dates. The situation is delicate."

"How delicate?" Julie's voice sharpened.

"The timeline is tight." Patrick chose his words carefully. "Your ex-husband purchased those tickets after the divorce was finalized. The asset separation is clean. If we go to trial, we lose. If we're lucky, we lose quietly. If we're not, the judge sanctions us for wasting the court's time—."

"Can you file or not?" Julie cut him off, her voice sharp.

"I can file. That's not the issue. The issue is whether we can win."

"I don't want to hear what we can't do." Julie's grip tightened on the phone. "I want to hear what you're going to do."

Patrick sighed, the sound of a man who had seen this exact client before and knew how the story ended. "I can file a claim based on hidden marital assets and fraudulent misrepresentation. It's weak. A good defense attorney will shred it in an afternoon. But if you want to spend your money on a losing hand, that's your choice."

"I don't need to win in court." Julie's voice softened, the way it always did when she was about to say something ugly. "I just need to make him bleed enough to settle. File the claim. Make it loud. The public will do the rest."

"You're betting your future solely on a mob." Patrick paused. "I've seen that bet before. It doesn't pay."

"Then maybe you're not the lawyer I need." Julie let the words hang. "Are you filing or not?"

There was a long silence. Patrick's voice, when it came, was clipped and professional. "I'll have the paperwork ready by Friday. My office will send you the invoice."

Friday came. The claim was filed. The media got wind within hours.

By Saturday morning, Julie's face was back in front of the cameras. This time she didn't bother with the modest dress and the smudged mascara. She went straight for the ring light and the shaking voice, her eyes puffy from actual sleep deprivation, which only made the performance more convincing.

"He thinks he can buy his way out of the truth." She stared into the lens, her voice cracking on cue. "He thinks that because he has money and lawyers and a big house on a hill, the law doesn't apply to him. But I'm not going to sit here and let my son grow up thinking that's how the world works. I'm taking him to court. And I'm not backing down."

She paused, wiped her nose, and let the tears come.

"Some people have asked why I'm doing this publicly. Why not just handle it quietly? Because silence is how men like him win. Silence is how women like me disappear. I'm speaking out because my son deserves better. And because I know there are thousands of women out there going through the same thing, feeling like the system failed them. I'm standing up for all of us."

The video hit half a million views in six hours.

Her follower count, which had been climbing steadily since the first post, exploded past one hundred thousand by Sunday night. The comments were a wall of rage and sympathy. Women shared their own divorce stories in the replies. News accounts reached out for interviews. A local radio host called her "the voice of betrayed wives everywhere."

The hashtag #JusticeForJulie trended again, and this time it stayed.

By Monday, the calls for a live-streamed trial had begun.

"Let the whole world see what he did." The top comment read, with eighteen thousand likes. "If he's innocent, he has nothing to hide."

The demand spread fast. News sites ran polls asking whether the trial should be broadcast. The result was overwhelming. Eighty-seven percent said yes.

Julie watched it all from the kitchen table, her laptop open, her coffee cold again. The numbers were intoxicating. Every refresh brought another thousand views, another hundred comments, another wave of people who believed her because she cried well.

"This is working." Celeste stood behind her, reading over her shoulder. "Even if the judge rules against you, he can't survive this kind of pressure. He'll settle just to make it stop."

"That's the plan." Julie's voice was quiet, but there was heat underneath it now. The old confidence was coming back, refueled by strangers on the internet. "By the time this goes to trial, he won't have a choice."

Arnold walked in from the garage, his phone in hand. "I just heard from a guy who knows a guy at the courthouse. The judge is considering the broadcast request. He's going to ask both parties if they object."

Julie's eyes snapped up. "And?"

"And Jacob's side hasn't said anything. No objection filed. No statement released. Nothing." Arnold's grin was wide and mean. "I told you. The man's a coward. He's hiding behind his walls and his lawyers because he knows what's coming."

Julie didn't answer. The word "coward" didn't sit right for some reason.

A cold thought slithered through her mind, but she pushed it away. The plan was working. The public was on her side. The trial would force Jacob's hand.

And if it didn't, she would tear him apart on camera.

The next morning, the judge issued a ruling. The trial would be broadcast live. Both parties had the right to object, but neither had done so.

Julie read the announcement twice, a slow smile spreading across her face. "He's going to let it happen. He's actually going to let the whole world watch."

"Because he's an idiot." Celeste laughed, sharp and satisfied. "A rich idiot who thinks the law protects him. We'll see how protected he feels when fifty million people are calling him a monster."

The day of the hearing arrived cold and bright.

Jacob drove to the courthouse alone. Victoria met him on the steps, her briefcase in hand, her expression unreadable.

"Anything you want to tell me before we go in?" She asked, falling into step beside him.

"Just one thing." Jacob walked without breaking stride. "Let the evidence do the talking."

Inside, the courtroom was already filling. Cameras lined the walls. Reporters crowded the gallery. The bailiff stood near the door with his arms folded, watching the crowd like a man waiting for something to go wrong.

Julie sat at the plaintiff's table in a soft gray dress, her hair pulled back, her eyes already red. The picture of a wronged woman braced for battle.

When Jacob walked in, the room went quiet.

Heads turned. Phones lifted. Whispers rippled through the gallery like a current. Jacob ignored all of it. He took his seat beside Victoria, set his hands flat on the table, and waited.

The judge entered. The courtroom rose. The cameras rolled.

"Before we begin," the judge said, his voice carrying through the room, "the court recognizes that this case has drawn significant public attention. Both parties have consented to the live broadcast of these proceedings. I expect order and decorum at all times."

He glanced at Jacob, then at Julie.

"We'll begin with the plaintiff's opening statements."

Julie stood, smoothing her dress with trembling fingers. Her face crumpled into that familiar mask of grief, and when she spoke, her voice broke in exactly the right places.

"Your Honor, I'm here today because my husband of ten years discarded me and our four-year-old son like garbage. He took everything. He left us with nothing. And when he won the lottery just days after our divorce, he didn't even consider sharing a single dollar with the child he claims to love."

She pressed a tissue to her eyes. The cameras captured every tear.

"I'm not asking for charity. I'm asking for justice."

The gallery murmured approval. The livestream chat, already visible on the courtroom monitors, flooded with supportive messages.

Julie sat down, and for one brief moment, she looked toward Jacob with something like triumph in her eyes.

Jacob didn't blink. He didn't flinch. He just waited.

Victoria rose, calm as stone.

"Your Honor, the defense will not be making an opening statement at this time. We would prefer to let the evidence speak for itself."

The judge nodded. "Then we'll proceed to discovery."

Julie's expression flickered. Something cold moved behind her eyes, but she covered it with another dab of the tissue.

She didn't know it yet, but the trap was already closing.

And Jacob was holding the spring.