Updated Oct 30, 2025 • ~12 min read
Wednesday morning arrived with the sharp clarity of a blade being sharpened.
Samantha sat across from Wesley in his corner office, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked downtown Portland. Between them lay three stacks of documents: the licensing board complaint, the malpractice lawsuit, and the divorce petition. All signed. All ready to file.
“The complaint was submitted yesterday at 4:47 PM,” Wesley said, pulling up his email. “Confirmation receipt here. Dr. Westmore should receive official notification today, probably this afternoon.”
“And then what?”
“She has fourteen days to respond. Meanwhile, the board opens a preliminary investigation. They’ll interview you, review the evidence, possibly interview witnesses.” He tapped the divorce petition. “This gets served to Jared today at his office. Process server should arrive around 2 PM.”
Samantha checked her watch. 10:30 AM. In three and a half hours, her husband would be handed papers that would end their marriage and expose his affair to his colleagues. The thought should have made her feel something—guilt, sadness, satisfaction. Instead, she felt nothing but cold purpose.
“Walk me through the malpractice suit,” she said.
Wesley opened the third stack of papers. “We’re suing Dr. Westmore and her practice for professional negligence, breach of fiduciary duty, and intentional infliction of emotional distress. The damages we’re seeking include: cost of past and future therapy to repair the harm done, emotional distress, loss of consortium, and punitive damages.”
“How much?”
“I’m recommending we ask for two hundred and fifty thousand. Her malpractice insurance caps at five hundred, so we’re staying within realistic settlement range. Insurance companies hate going to trial on cases this clear-cut. My guess is they’ll offer a settlement within ninety days.”
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The number was staggering.
“What are the odds we win if it goes to trial?”
Wesley leaned back in his chair, hands steepled. “Samantha, you have the strongest case I’ve seen in fifteen years of practice. A therapist engaging in sexual relations with a client’s spouse during active treatment? That’s not just unethical—it’s textbook malpractice. Add in the surveillance footage, the financial records, the pattern of previous complaints, and the fact that she actively gaslighted you during sessions?” He shook his head. “This is a slam dunk. We’ll win at trial. But it won’t get to trial. Her insurance will settle.”
“And her license?”
“Career-ending. The licensing board has revoked licenses for less egregious violations. With your evidence, there’s no question she’ll lose her license to practice. She might be able to keep a PhD and teach, but she’ll never treat clients again.”
Samantha absorbed this, watching the sunlight play across the polished conference table. Dr. Leigh Westmore, who’d spent years building her practice, establishing her reputation, curating that perfect professional image—all of it would be destroyed. Her website would come down. Her Psychology Today profile would disappear. Every potential client would google her name and find articles about ethical violations and license revocation.
“Good,” Samantha said quietly.
Wesley studied her for a moment. “Can I give you some advice? Not legal advice—personal advice.”
“Go ahead.”
“What you’re doing is absolutely justified. Dr. Westmore abused her position of trust in the worst possible way. Jared betrayed you. They both deserve consequences.” He paused. “But this level of public destruction—it’s going to get messy. Your life will be under scrutiny. People will take sides. The media might get involved. Are you prepared for that?”
“I’ve been preparing for three months.” Samantha met his eyes steadily. “Every day I went to therapy and watched her manipulate my husband while gaslighting me about my own instincts. Every night Jared came home from her bed and lied to my face. Every time I doubted myself because she made me think I was paranoid and controlling. I prepared for this. And I’m ready.”
Wesley nodded slowly. “Then let’s talk strategy. You asked me once what the most public way to destroy them both would be. Let me lay out the nuclear option.”
He pulled out a legal pad and started writing.
“First, the licensing board complaint. That becomes public record once the investigation begins. Anyone can look up complaints against licensed professionals. Dr. Westmore’s clients—current and future—will see it.”
“How long until it’s public?”
“Thirty days maximum, probably sooner. Once the board opens a formal investigation, it hits the public database.”
“And the malpractice suit?”
“Also public record. Court filings are accessible to anyone. The local legal community will know about it within days. But here’s where it gets interesting.” Wesley leaned forward. “You mentioned your evidence includes multiple previous complaints against Dr. Westmore that were settled privately. In discovery, we can subpoena those records. Force them into the public record. Show that this isn’t an isolated incident—it’s a pattern.”
Samantha’s pulse quickened. “You can do that?”
“Absolutely. Those settlements likely included NDAs, but NDAs don’t apply when records are subpoenaed for litigation. We can expose her entire history.” He made another note. “Which brings me to the media angle.”
He pulled out a business card—the same one he’d shown her before. Brooke Ellison, Investigative Reporter.
“Brooke specializes in professional ethics violations. She’s done pieces on doctors, lawyers, clergy members who abuse positions of trust. A therapist having an affair with a client’s husband during couples counseling? That’s exactly her beat.”
“You think she’d be interested?”
“I think she’d jump at it. This story has everything—betrayal, professional misconduct, gaslighting, a woman who fought back and won. It’s compelling. And once it’s published, every media outlet in Portland will pick it up.”
Samantha imagined it. Her story in the newspaper. On local news. Shared on social media. Dr. Leigh’s face attached to headlines about ethical violations. Jared’s name mentioned as the married man who slept with his therapist.
“Would I have to use my real name?”
“Not necessarily. Brooke works with victims of professional misconduct all the time. She knows how to tell the story while protecting your identity if you prefer. But…” He hesitated. “Maximum impact comes from putting your face to it. Showing you’re not ashamed. That you’re the wronged party, not them.”
“I’m not ashamed,” Samantha said. “They should be.”
“Exactly. So here’s the timeline for maximum devastation.” Wesley numbered his points. “One: Licensing board complaint becomes public. Dr. Westmore’s clients start asking questions. Two: Divorce filing hits public records. Jared’s colleagues and friends find out. Three: Malpractice lawsuit gets media attention. Brooke writes the story. Four: Discovery forces previous complaints into public record. Pattern of predatory behavior exposed. Five: Board revokes her license. Final nail in coffin.”
He looked up. “That’s the nuclear option. By the time we’re done, neither of them will be able to show their faces in Portland without everyone knowing exactly what they did.”
Samantha sat with that for a moment. The weight of it. The finality.
Then she asked the question that had been burning in her mind for weeks: “Is this revenge or justice?”
Wesley considered that carefully. “Legally? It’s justice. You’re using established legal and professional mechanisms to hold people accountable for genuine harm. Ethically? It’s both. You were wronged. You want consequences. That’s human. But you’re also protecting future clients from a predatory therapist. You’re exposing a pattern that’s been hidden behind NDAs and private settlements. That’s public service.”
“So you think I’m doing the right thing?”
“I think you’re doing the necessary thing.” Wesley closed his legal pad. “Women like Dr. Westmore keep operating because their victims stay silent. Because they’re ashamed or tired or scared. Because they take settlements and sign NDAs and let the pattern continue. You’re breaking that pattern. You’re making sure she can’t do this to anyone else.”
Samantha nodded slowly. “Then let’s do it. All of it. The maximum public option.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Wesley smiled grimly. “Then let’s burn it down.”
He pulled out his phone and made a call while Samantha watched. “Brooke? Wesley Tate. I have a story you’re going to want… Yes, now. Can you meet me and my client this afternoon?” Pause. “Perfect. Four PM at my office. Trust me, this is worth your time.”
He hung up and made another call. “Process server? Confirming service at 2 PM today… Yes, the Hayes divorce petition. Target is Jared Hayes at Morrison & Associates downtown… Excellent. I need photos of the service, if possible. Documentation purposes.”
One more call. “Spencer? Wesley Tate. I need to give you a heads-up. One of your supervisees is about to have a very bad day. Dr. Leigh Westmore. Licensing complaint was filed yesterday. My client is also suing for malpractice. Thought you should know before it hits your desk officially… Yes, serious violations. Multiple ethical breaches. You’ll want to review your supervision notes… No problem. Good luck with the fallout.”
He hung up and looked at Samantha. “Dr. Rhodes now knows something’s coming. He’ll be checking his records, distancing himself from Dr. Westmore before the board investigation reaches him. Classic CYA.”
“Won’t that warn Dr. Leigh?”
“Maybe. But there’s nothing she can do about it now. The complaint is filed. The investigation is starting. She can’t undo the affair or erase the evidence.” Wesley pulled up his email. “Besides, she should be getting the official notification right about… now.”
As if on cue, Samantha’s phone buzzed. Unknown number.
She looked at the screen. Text message from a number she didn’t recognize:
Unknown: We need to talk. This is serious. Please call me.
“That’s probably her,” Wesley said. “Dr. Westmore just got the complaint. She’s panicking.”
Samantha stared at the message. Imagined Dr. Leigh in her perfect office with her lavender scent and her manipulation tactics, reading the licensing board complaint. Seeing the photos. The hotel receipts. The timeline. Understanding that the oblivious wife had been anything but oblivious.
Understanding that her career was over.
“Don’t respond,” Wesley advised. “Anything you say can be used in the investigation. Radio silence from here on out.”
Another text:
Unknown: Samantha, please. I need to explain. This isn’t what you think.
Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Classic gaslighting. Even now, she’s trying to manipulate the narrative.”
“What should I do?”
“Block the number. Let her panic. Meanwhile, we prepare for war.”
Samantha blocked the number and felt a surge of satisfaction. Dr. Leigh was used to being in control. Used to managing perceptions, spinning narratives, making people doubt their own reality.
Not anymore.
“What happens at 2 PM when Jared gets served?” Samantha asked.
“He’ll be handed the divorce petition in front of his colleagues. He’ll read the grounds—adultery, with supporting evidence attached. He’ll realize you know everything. Then he’ll probably try to call you.”
“And I should…”
“Block him too. No contact except through attorneys. Clean break. Let him sit with the consequences while we build the case.”
Samantha’s phone buzzed again. Different number—Jared’s office line.
She declined the call and blocked that number too.
“Good,” Wesley said. “Now, let’s talk about what happens when you meet with Brooke this afternoon. She’s going to ask you to tell your story. All of it. The therapy sessions, the gaslighting, the discovery process, how you felt. Are you ready for that?”
“I’ve been practicing my whole life for this conversation. I just didn’t know it until now.”
Wesley smiled. “Then I think we’re done here. Go home. Rest. At 2 PM, your husband’s world implodes. At 4 PM, you tell your story to a journalist who will make sure everyone knows what they did. By Friday, this will be the biggest scandal in Portland’s mental health community.”
Samantha stood, gathering her purse. “Thank you. For believing me. For taking this seriously.”
“Samantha, you made it easy. You did everything right—documented meticulously, gathered irrefutable evidence, used proper legal channels. You’re not a scorned wife seeking revenge. You’re a victim of professional misconduct seeking justice. That’s a case any attorney would be proud to handle.”
She left his office and walked to her car, her phone already buzzing with more unknown numbers trying to reach her. She blocked them all.
At 1:45 PM, she sat in her car across the street from Jared’s office building, watching. She’d told herself she wouldn’t come. That she’d wait at home, let the process server do their job, hear about it later.
But she needed to see it. Needed to witness the moment when Jared’s carefully constructed lies fell apart.
At 1:58 PM, a man in a polo shirt entered the building carrying a manila envelope.
Samantha waited.
At 2:14 PM, her phone rang. Jared. She’d forgotten to block his cell number.
She declined the call and finally added him to her block list.
At 2:16 PM, Jared burst out of the building, still holding the papers, his face pale. He looked around wildly, like he was searching for something. For her, maybe.
Samantha watched from across the street, her hands steady on the steering wheel.
This was it. The moment her marriage officially ended.
And she felt nothing but cold, clear victory.
She started her car and drove to Wesley’s office for her 4 PM meeting with Brooke Ellison.
It was time to tell her story.
And she was going to make damn sure everyone heard it.
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