A six percent voting position in Blackwood Logistics through a family trust.
And enough separate assets that divorce frightened me emotionally, not financially.
Adrian knew about the shares.
He simply treated them as passive inheritance.
Vanessa apparently knew even less.
I said:
“You seem very invested in my identity.”
She stepped closer again.
“Just walk away cleanly.”
“Are you giving me divorce advice?”
“I’m telling you not to make this ugly.”
I stared.
“Did Adrian tell you to say that?”
“No.”
“Then move away from me.”
She reached toward my arm.
I pulled back.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Stop acting like a victim.”
Then everything happened too quickly.
I turned toward the door.
Vanessa grabbed my hair.
Hard.
My head jerked backward.
I shouted.
She said something about me being pathetic.
I tried to pull free.
On the counter sat a pair of professional scissors from a grooming kit Blackwood kept in the executive restroom for events.
Vanessa grabbed them.
I saw metal.
Then heard the sound.
Snip.
A heavy section of my hair dropped into the sink.
