Chapter 4 - The Final Audit
Within forty-eight hours of David's public removal from Apex Tower, the corporate housecleaning was nothing short of military precision.
The shell company accounts were frozen, the luxury downtown condo was seized by corporate compliance, and Jessica Vance—David’s executive assistant and mistress—was escorted off the premises by security before she could even clear out her desk. The federal indictments for corporate fraud and embezzlement were filed by Friday afternoon, ensuring that David would face the full weight of the law without a penny of corporate funds to pay for his high-priced defense attorneys.
Back at home, the atmosphere was completely transformed.
When David was finally released on police bail late Friday evening, he returned to a house that no longer belonged to him. The smart locks had been reprogrammed. His personal belongings—neatly packed into three cardboard boxes—were sitting on the front porch like discarded trash.
I was standing on the front porch when his rental car pulled up to the curb.
He stepped out of the vehicle, looking twenty pounds lighter, his silk tie gone, his hair disheveled, and his eyes hollow and defeated. He walked slowly up the driveway, stopping a few feet away from me.
"Amelia," he rasped, his voice cracked and broken. "Please. The kids... where are the kids?"
"The kids are inside doing their homework, completely unaware that their father is a criminal fraudster," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "And that's the only reason I haven't filed for an immediate, no-fault emergency custody restriction barring you from ever seeing them."
David swallowed hard, tears finally spilling over his eyelids. "Are you going to ruin me? Everything I built... everything I worked for..."
"You didn't build it, David," I corrected him sharply. "You were just the frontman. My family provided the capital, my trust secured the patents, and I spent ten years keeping your life stable enough so you didn't crash and burn. The only thing you built was a monument to your own arrogance."
He stared at me, realizing the absolute, terrifying finality of his defeat. There were no negotiations left. No loopholes. No fifty-fifty splits.
"What happens now?" he whispered.
May you like
"Marcus will send over the divorce papers on Monday morning," I said, turning toward the front door. "You will sign away all claims to the primary residence, surrender any remaining stock options, and agree to full, unconditional child support. In exchange, I won't push for the maximum federal prison sentence on the embezzlement charges. Consider that your parting gift."
Without waiting for his answer, I turned my back on him, walked into the house, and locked the heavy oak door behind me.
