My Composure After Divorce Became His Greatest Torment Chapter 04
I didn’t answer Tessa right away.
But when I got home, I followed her list. I changed the password to my medical app, disabled family access, and logged out all of Nathan’s devices.
Over the next few days, I began the process of dividing our assets.
The Back Bay apartment had to be registered, the trust terms verified. Every dollar in our joint accounts had to be reviewed by lawyers.
I also started packing up Nathan’s things from our Beacon Hill townhome.
His clothes, his cuff links, his books—I boxed them all. While sorting through his study, I found a sealed file envelope at the very bottom of a cabinet.
The seal was unbroken. The Prescott Group logo was printed on the front, with a line of red text in the corner:
CONFIDENTIAL INVESTMENT FILE.
This obviously couldn’t be thrown out, nor could it be handed over to a standard moving company.
I called Nathan’s assistant.
The phone rang a few times before a woman’s voice answered. Caroline’s.
“What is it?”
I paused.
“I found a confidential Prescott Group file in the study. Please have Nathan arrange for someone to pick it up.”
Caroline let out a soft, condescending laugh.
“Elise, you already traded a necklace for an apartment. Are you really using his old things as an excuse to see him again?”
“This isn’t one of his old things. It’s a company file.”
“Then throw it away.”
“It’s marked confidential.”
Her tone turned sharp.
“Stop playing these games. Nathan isn’t coming back to Beacon Hill, and he doesn’t need to personally handle every little thing you decide to drag out.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then called Nathan’s driver and asked if he could pick it up.
He was quiet for a moment before lowering his voice. “Mrs. Ward, I’m sorry. Miss Ames gave instructions that anything involving you has to go through her. Without her permission, we can’t come over.”
*Anything involving me.*
Caroline had already assumed the role of mistress of the house, managing everyone in Nathan’s orbit.
I didn’t argue. I simply took clear photos of the sealed file envelope, front and back, and emailed them to Nathan’s assistant, noting where and when I had found it.
Less than twenty minutes later, an email landed in my inbox.
It was from Caroline.
The subject line read:
Baby Transition Plan.
I opened the attachment. The first page listed a designated hospital and OB-GYN.
She was requiring me to have a C-section one week before my due date, on a day chosen by her and Nathan to fit the family’s schedule. After the birth, breastfeeding was prohibited to prevent the baby from developing “unnecessary dependency” and to help them establish a feeding routine.
The last item was bolded in red.
I was required to share the login and password for my medical app and grant them full access to all prenatal records, test results, and doctor’s notes so they could “jointly manage the progress of the pregnancy.”
At the end of the email, Caroline added a final sentence:
“Please don’t bring personal emotions into the baby’s arrangements. We should all put the child’s future first.”
I stared at the words, nausea twisting in my gut.
In her eyes, I wasn’t the baby’s mother.
I was a vessel, expected to check into a hospital, undergo surgery, hand over my private information, and then quietly disappear.
My finger was already hovering over the reply button.
But then I remembered what Tessa had said.
*Anything they put in writing is ammunition. Don’t respond. Escalate.*
Slowly, I relaxed my hand.
I didn’t fire back a furious email. I didn’t call her shameless.
First, I took screenshots of the entire email—sender address, timestamp, and attachment—then forwarded the original message to the divorce lawyer Tessa had found for me.
The lawyer called almost immediately.
“Would you like me to handle this with a polite reminder, or a formal warning?”
I looked at the words *jointly manage the progress of the pregnancy* on my screen.
“Formally.”
Half an hour later, a warning letter went out from the law firm to Nathan’s entire legal team, with the Prescott Group’s general counsel copied.
My lawyer stated in no uncertain terms that Caroline’s attempt to obtain my private medical account and health information was a potential violation of HIPAA and a serious invasion of my medical privacy and bodily autonomy.
Any interference in my choice of delivery method, doctor, or medical authorizations had to cease immediately.
If they continued to attempt to access my medical information, we reserved the full right to seek injunctive relief, file suit, and lodge complaints with the appropriate authorities.
The letter concluded by demanding written confirmation from Nathan’s team within twenty-four hours that:
Caroline Ames had no authority to make arrangements regarding my pregnancy on behalf of Nathan Prescott, the Prescott family, or any related party.
After the email was sent, I expected Caroline to call, furious.
I expected her to demand why I had involved lawyers, to accuse me of trying to ruin appearances.
But there was nothing.
No phone call. No email. Even Nathan’s side was unnervingly quiet.
An hour later, as I was staring at my phone in confusion, the screen lit up.
The caller ID read: Chief Counsel, Prescott Family.
Urgent.