Chapter 7 - The Unraveling
By Wednesday afternoon, the financial press had caught the scent of blood.
Bloomberg published an emergency bulletin: WESTON FINANCIAL GROUP FACES LIQUIDITY CRISIS AS INSTITUTIONAL BACKERS PULL OUT OVERNIGHT.
Social media and gossip blogs were having a field day. Headlines flashed across every screen in Manhattan: FROM HIGH SOCIETY TO HARD TIMES: ANDREW WESTON’S MILLION-DOLLAR MISTAKE.
Inside the penthouse, the atmosphere was thick with toxic recrimination. The champagne bottles from the weekend were gone, replaced by empty takeout boxes and crumpled financial reports scattered across the floor.
“This is your fault!” Lila shrieked, throwing a crystal perfume bottle against the living room wall. It shattered into a thousand glittering shards. “You promised me we’d be on top of the world! You said your empire was untouchable!”
“Shut your mouth, Lila!” Andrew yelled back, his eyes bloodshot, his tailored shirt rumpled and unbuttoned. He looked ten years older than he had just four days ago. “If you hadn’t demanded we go public at that gala, if you hadn't forced my hand—_”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault you couldn't keep your wife from walking away?” Lila laughed hysterically, grabbing her designer handbag from the sofa. “I’m done. I’m not going down with a bankrupt loser. My lawyer is already drawing up the separation agreement for our engagement.”
Andrew stared at her in absolute disbelief. “We’re not even married yet, and you’re already abandoning ship?”
“I’m young, Andrew. I have options. You have a mountain of debt and a federal investigation breathing down your neck for corporate negligence.”
With a flick of her hair, Lila turned on her heel and stormed out of the penthouse, slamming the heavy oak front door behind her.
The silence that followed was heavier than death.
Andrew sank slowly onto the edge of the leather sofa, burying his face in his hands. He was completely alone. No wife. No mistress. No investors. No empire.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table.
With shaking hands, he picked it up. It was an email from his lead divorce attorney.
Subject: Finalized Divorce Decree. Notes: Mrs. Emma Weston has signed the finalized paperwork. All assets tied to the prenuptial agreement have been legally processed. Furthermore, please be advised that Sterling Global Holdings has officially filed a foreclosure notice on your primary corporate headquarters.
Andrew stared at the screen, the name Sterling Global echoing in his brain like a death knell.
Sterling.
He had never checked Emma’s maiden name. When they met at a charity auction three years ago, she had simply introduced herself as Emma Rose—quiet, unassuming, wearing a vintage dress she had hemmed herself. He had assumed she was a nobody from a sleepy farm town.
He staggered to his feet, walking over to the desk where she had left the divorce papers. He picked up the manila folder, shaking as he looked closer at the legal letterhead of the law firm representing her.
Sterling, Vance & Associates. Principal Beneficiary: Arthur Sterling.
The blood drained from Andrew’s face. He let out a choked, hollow sound of sheer, unadulterated terror.
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He hadn't just cheated on his wife.
He had kicked a sleeping dragon, thinking it was a stray dog. And now, the dragon was waking up.
