Chapter 6 - Behind Bars and Boardrooms
By Monday morning, the transition of power at Cole Enterprises was complete.
With Ethan stripped of his title, his shares, and his corporate access, the board of directors officially elected me as the interim Chief Executive Officer and Chairperson of the Board.
When I walked through the glass double doors of our downtown Manhattan headquarters for the first time since my maternity leave began, the entire office fell into a stunned, respectful silence. The employees who had whispered behind my back during Ethan’s affair now stood up from their desks, offering nervous, deferential nods. They knew the truth now: I wasn't just the boss's estranged wife; I was the architect who kept the entire company solvent while Ethan played playboy.
My office on the 42nd floor had been cleared of Ethan’s garish, oversized ego decor—no more custom leather golf simulators or gilded nameplates. Instead, it was clean, minimalist, and functional, overlooking the sweeping skyline of New York Harbor.
Marcus sat across from me at the large glass conference table as we reviewed the final asset forfeiture liquidation documents.
“The federal prosecutor’s office just accepted our supplemental forensic audit report,” Marcus said, signing a line on the bottom of a digital tablet. “Ethan’s arraignment on federal wire fraud and grand larceny charges is scheduled for Thursday morning. Given the airtight paper trail you provided, his defense team is already advising him to plead guilty in exchange for a recommended sentence reduction.”
“Will he serve time?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
“Without a doubt,” Marcus replied without hesitation. “Federal white-collar crimes of this magnitude carry a mandatory minimum of five to seven years, and with the aggravating factors of corporate asset stripping, expect the judge to make an example of him.”
I nodded slowly, feeling a profound sense of closure settle over my chest. The anger that had consumed me during those lonely nights while Ethan was wining and dining his mistress in luxury hotels had finally burned away, leaving behind pure, unshakeable clarity.
“And Bianca?” I asked.
“Her defense attorney is trying to plea-bargain the felony assault charge down to a misdemeanor, citing emotional distress and provocation,” Marcus said with a dry chuckle. “Unlikely to succeed, especially with the hospital security footage and the victim’s medical records backing us up. She’s looking at probation and mandatory anger management at best, though her social standing in Manhattan is permanently incinerated.”
Just then, my phone chimed. A secure notification from the nursery monitor at my Greenwich estate flashed across the screen.
I tapped the app. The live feed showed little Noah stretching his arms out in his crib, letting out a soft, sleepy yawn as my mother gently stroked his cheek.
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“I need to head home, Marcus,” I said, standing up and buttoning my tailored blazer. “Noah’s pediatric follow-up is this afternoon, and I want to be there.”
Marcus smiled, standing up and gathering his portfolio. “Go ahead, Madam CEO. You’ve more than earned your afternoon.”
