Chloe staggered backward, her face twisting into an agonizing mask of horror. “Wife? Julian… what is she talking about? You said you were single. You proposed to me!”
An older investor, a man named Harrison whom I recognized from Forbes, stepped forward, his expression hardening into granite. “Julian, is this woman your wife?”
“Harrison, please, this is a private, personal misunderstanding. It has zero bearing on the firm,” Julian pleaded, sweat beading rapidly on his forehead.
“Actually, it has everything to do with the firm,” I cut in smoothly. I opened my clutch purse and withdrew a thick stack of folded, bank-certified documents. I dropped them onto the cocktail table directly in front of the investors.
“Before any of you write a seven-figure check to this man, you should be aware that the seed capital for J&C Partners was embezzled,” I announced clearly. “These are wire transfers totaling nearly fifty thousand dollars, siphoned directly from our joint marital accounts to fund this woman’s lifestyle. There is also a fifty-thousand-dollar withdrawal used to secure real estate under a dummy LLC. My attorney is filing for an emergency asset freeze tomorrow morning. If you invest in this entity, your capital will be instantly tangled in a massive fraud litigation.”
Harrison didn’t say a word. He picked up the top bank statement, adjusted his reading glasses, and scanned the highlighted wire transfers. He dropped the paper back onto the table as if it were coated in anthrax.
“We are done here, Julian,” Harrison said, his voice dripping with aristocratic disgust. He signaled to his associates. “Let’s go.”
It was a domino effect. The investors began moving en masse toward the double doors. The grand launch party was instantly transformed into a toxic waste zone, and nobody wanted the contamination on their shoes.
Julian was hyperventilating, his hands pulling at his hair. “Chloe, baby, please. Let me explain. I was going to leave her. I swear to god I was going to leave her!”
Chloe let out a sound that wasn’t human—a guttural, tearing sob. Tears streamed down her face, destroying her perfect makeup. “You lied to me! For three years! You used my name for this?” She looked at me, her eyes wide with a devastating, humiliating realization. “At the office… when I showed you the ring… did you know?”
“I found out my first day,” I said, my voice softening just a fraction. “I’m sorry, Chloe.”
She let out another sob, turned on her stiletto heel, and bolted from the room, pushing past the retreating investors.
And then, there were two.
Julian and I stood alone in the center of the massive, ruined ballroom. The J&C Partners logo glared down at him, mocking the ashes of his empire. He looked at me, his eyes burning with a chaotic mixture of fury, humiliation, and absolute defeat.
“Are you happy now?” he hissed, his voice trembling. “You burned everything to the ground.”
I looked at the man I had loved for seven years. I expected to feel grief. I expected to feel the sting of a broken heart. Instead, I felt incredibly, wonderfully light.
“I didn’t burn anything down, Julian,” I said calmly, turning my back on him. “You lit the match three years ago. I just opened the doors so everyone could watch the fire.”
I walked out of the Astor Suite, the clicking of my heels echoing off the marble floors of the Waldorf. When I stepped out into the cool Manhattan night, the city was still loud, still rushing forward, completely indifferent to the destruction behind me.
My phone vibrated in my clutch. It was Rebecca.
“Well?” she asked.
“It’s done,” I said, hailing a yellow cab. “He lost the firm. He lost the investors. He lost the girl.”
Rebecca let out a sharp, victorious laugh. “And the money?”
“The money is ours to reclaim on Monday morning,” I replied.
I returned to our dark apartment on the Upper West Side and walked straight out onto the balcony overlooking the Hudson River. The wind whipped my hair around my face. Around midnight, I heard the front door open. Julian shuffled out onto the balcony, looking like a hollowed-out ghost. His tuxedo jacket was missing; his tie was undone.
He didn’t look at me. He just stared out at the black water. “Did you have to do it like that? In front of everyone?”
“Did you have to lie to my face for a thousand days?” I countered, my voice devoid of emotion.
He closed his eyes, gripping the iron railing. “I’m sorry, Clara.”
“It’s too late for apologies,” I said, turning to head back inside. “The divorce papers will be served at your office on Monday. We are selling this apartment, and you are going to return every single dime you stole. Don’t fight me, or I’ll take the rest of your reputation, too.”
He didn’t argue. There were no lies left to spin.
