Natasha's Stance

Friday morning arrived with a text from David: "Dinner is cancelled tonight. I have an emergency meeting with Dad. Don't wait up."

It was perfect. That gave me the evening to finalize everything.

Michelle showed up at noon with her usual fake cheerfulness, but there was something different in her eyes.

"Tasha, we need to talk." She sat down across from me at the kitchen table. "David and I think it's best if you cancel any plans you have this weekend. You've been so confused lately, and we don't want you to embarrass yourself."

I blinked at her with innocent confusion. "Plans? What plans?"

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. "Good. We were worried you might have scheduled something without telling us."

"Why would I do that? You handle my entire schedule, Michelle. You know everything I do." I smiled sweetly at her, watching her squirm.

"Right. Of course." She pulled out her tablet. "So I've been working on the farewell tour itinerary. We're thinking twelve cities, starting in two months. That should give you enough time before..." She trailed off delicately.

"Before I can't remember my own name?" I finished for her, my voice small and broken.

"Tasha, don't say it like that." She reached for my hand, and it took everything in me not to yank it away. "We're trying to preserve your legacy. This tour will be beautiful."

"A beautiful ending," I whispered. Then I looked at her, letting tears fill my eyes. "Michelle, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Do you think David still loves me? He's been so distant lately. Sometimes I wonder if... if there's someone else."

I watched her face carefully. The flash of guilt was so quick I almost missed it.

"Of course he loves you, Tasha. He's just worried about you. We both are." She squeezed my hand. "You're imagining things. The disease makes you paranoid sometimes."

"You're right. I'm being silly." I wiped my eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Michelle. You're my best friend."

The word "friend" made her flinch.

After she left, I pulled out the burner phone Adrian had given me and called Samuel.

"Everything's ready," he said. "The legal documents are filed and sealed until tomorrow night. The moment you make your announcement, they'll be unsealed and served. David won't know what hit him."

"And the money?"

"Every penny you've transferred is secure in accounts under your maiden name. He can't touch them. The moment the guardianship attempt fails, which of course, will fail, you'll have complete financial independence."

"What about Richmond Records?"

"That's the beautiful part. According to the contracts you signed, if you can prove fraud or coercion, everything reverts to you. Not just the rights to your compositions, but a significant portion of company equity. Your work has been their primary revenue stream for ten years."

I smiled. "So I won't just get my music back. I'll own a piece of the company that stole it."

"Exactly. And I've already had preliminary conversations with three major labels interested in your catalog. You'll be fine, Natasha. Better than fine."

That evening, I went to Steinway Hall for a private rehearsal. The venue was smaller than Carnegie Hall, more intimate, but that was perfect. I wanted to look them in the eyes when I destroyed them.

Margaret was already there, supervising the technical setup. "The livestream is ready. We're estimating over a million viewers based on advance publicity. Every major music journalist will be watching."

"And the surprise guests?"

"Yuri's flight lands at six tomorrow. He'll be backstage with the documents. Dr. Cole will present his findings at eight-fifteen, right before your performance."

I sat at the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys. This instrument had been my salvation through everything; poverty, grief, loneliness, betrayal. Tomorrow it will be my weapon.

I began to play the piece that started everything, the composition I wrote the week after my grandmother died. The piece David had registered under Michelle's name last year, claiming she'd written it as a "tribute to her own late grandmother."

The lies were so elaborate, so cruel.

My phone buzzed. A text from David: "The meeting is taking too long. I probably won't be home tonight. Love you."

I didn't bother to respond.

Another text, this time from Michelle: "Hey! Want to grab breakfast tomorrow? Girl time before your quiet weekend?"

She was checking on me, making sure I wasn't planning anything.

"I can't tomorrow, I’m feeling tired. Maybe next week?" I replied.

"Of course! Rest up, sweetie."

I set my phone down and continued playing, each note a promise of what was coming.

At midnight, I went to David's office one last time. I needed one more piece of evidence, something I'd been looking for all week.

In the back of his filing cabinet, behind folders of tax documents and contracts, I found it: a handwritten ledger.

David's father was old-school. He kept records of everything, and David had inherited the habit.

The ledger detailed every penny they'd made from my compositions over the past ten years. Broken down by song, by licensing deal, by merchandise. The total made me dizzy.

Forty-seven million dollars.

They made forty-seven million dollars from my work while paying me a "salary" of two hundred thousand a year.

I photographed every page, my hands shaking with rage.

At the bottom of the last page, in David's handwriting: "Final extraction timeline: Guardianship by March 1st. Institutionalization by March 15th. Marriage dissolution by April. Total asset acquisition complete by May 1st."

I was a business plan. A liquidation strategy.

I put everything back exactly as I found it and went to bed in the guest room. I couldn't stand the thought of sleeping in our bed one more night.

Tomorrow, I would burn their entire world down.

And I couldn't wait.

Natasha's Stance

Saturday morning, I woke up to seventeen missed calls from Michelle and nine from David.

My heart jumped into my throat. Did they know?

I called Michelle back, keeping my voice groggy and confused. "Hello?"

"Tasha! Thank God! We've been trying to reach you for hours!" She sounded genuinely panicked.

"What? What's wrong? What time is it?"

"It's eleven! You never sleep this late! We were worried you'd had some kind of episode!"

I made my voice small and frightened. "I'm sorry. I took a sleeping pill last night. I've been having nightmares."

"Okay, okay. It's fine. We were just worried." She exhaled. "David wants to take you to brunch to clear your head. He feels bad about canceling dinner."

My stomach turned. They were checking on me, making sure I was still under control.

"That sounds nice. Give me an hour to get ready?"

"Perfect. We'll pick you up at noon."

The moment I hung up, I texted the group: "They're suspicious, picking me up at noon. I need to stay calm."

Adrian responded immediately: "You can do this. Just a few more hours."

I got dressed, choosing a soft blue dress that made me look fragile and confused. I left my hair down, didn't wear makeup. I needed to look like someone whose mind was slipping away.

David and Michelle arrived together, which was bold. They weren't even trying to hide it anymore.

"You look tired, sweetheart." He kissed my forehead, and I forced myself not to recoil. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Just a little foggy. The sleeping pills make me groggy."

"Maybe you shouldn't take those anymore," Michelle said, sliding into the front seat like she belonged there. Like this was her car, her husband, her life.

We went to a café in SoHo, one of those trendy places with overpriced salads and exposed brick. The kind of place David used to take me when we were first dating.

Now he was recreating those moments with her while I watched.

"So, Tasha," Michelle said, stabbing her kale salad. "David and I have been talking, and we think it might be good for you to spend some time at a treatment facility. Just for a few weeks, to get your medications balanced."

I stared at her. "A treatment facility?"

"It's not as scary as it sounds," David added quickly. "It's more like a spa, peaceful and quiet. You could rest and get the care you need."

"You want to send me away?"

"Not forever," she said, reaching across the table for my hand. "Just until you're stable. We're worried about you."

This was it. They were trying to institutionalize me before I could fight back.

I pulled my hand away, letting it tremble. "I don't want to go to a facility. I want to stay home. Please don't send me away."

His face softened with false sympathy. "We're not sending you away, love. We're trying to help you."

"When would I go?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"We were thinking Monday," Michelle said. "We've already contacted a wonderful place in Connecticut. They are very discrete."

Monday. Same day David had told his father.

"Can I think about it?" I asked. "It's a big decision."

They exchanged a look.

"Of course," he said. "But Natasha, this isn't really optional. Your doctor thinks it's necessary."

"Dr. Harrison said that?"

"He's very concerned about your rapid decline."

I nodded slowly, letting tears slide down my cheeks. "Okay. If you think it's best."

The relief on their faces was almost funny.

We finished brunch in relative silence. I played with my food, making myself look small and defeated and broken.

David's phone rang. "I need to take this. Work emergency." He stepped outside.

The moment he was gone, Michelle leaned forward. "Tasha, I need to tell you something."

My heart started pounding. "What?"

"David and I..." She paused dramatically. "We're in love. We have been for months. And I know this is terrible timing with everything you're going through, but I'm pregnant with his baby. He’s the boyfriend I told you about."

I stared at her, letting my face show shock and pain and devastation.

"After you're settled in the facility, we're going to make it official. I wanted you to hear it from me first." She reached for my hand again. "I hope someday you can be happy for us. We never meant to hurt you."

The audacity of this woman.

"How long?" My voice cracked.

"Six months. I'm so sorry, Tasha. These things just happen."

"Does he love you?"

"Very much." She smiled, and it was genuine. She was happy. She thought she'd won.

"And my music? The compositions?"

Her smile faltered. "What about them?"

"The ones registered under your name. Did you write those?"

Her face went pale. "I... I helped with some of them. They are collaborative works."

"Did you write them, Michelle?"

"Tasha, you're confused. The medication makes you forget things."

"Did you write them?" I repeated, my voice stronger now.

David came back in, sensing tension. "Is everything okay?"

I looked between them, my husband and my assistant, the two people who'd systematically destroyed my life while pretending to love me.

And I smiled.

"Everything's perfect. Michelle just told me about the baby. Congratulations."

They both relaxed.

"You're not upset?" He asked carefully.

"I'm dying, David. My brain is turning to mush. What do I have to be upset about?" I laughed, and it sounded broken even to my own ears. "You deserve happiness. Both of you."

Michelle actually had tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Tasha. That means everything."

I excused myself to the bathroom, locked the door, and pulled out my phone.

Five hours until showtime.

Five hours until I destroyed them both.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes red from fake crying. I looked exactly like what they thought I was: a broken woman with nothing left to lose.

They had no idea how right they were about the nothing left to lose part.

And how completely wrong they were about everything else.

I fixed my makeup, straightened my shoulders, and went back to the table with a smile.

"Ready to go home?" He asked.

"Actually, I think I'll walk for a bit. I need to clear my head."

"Are you sure that's safe?" Michelle asked. "You might get lost."

"I'll be fine. I need some air."

I left them at the café, their concerned faces watching me go.

The moment I turned the corner, I dropped the act.

I had five hours to prepare for the performance of my lifetime.

And this time, the whole world would be watching.