Chapter 7 - Derek’s Desperate Plea at My Office
By Tuesday afternoon, the transformation was complete. Derek had exhausted every single option. His brother refused to answer his calls. His mother’s condo was too small and toxic to bear. His credit cards were completely dead.
In desperation, he took a commuter train downtown and walked into the soaring glass-and-steel skyscraper housing the corporate headquarters of Apex Holdings.
He pushed through the revolving doors, looking exhausted, disheveled, and desperate. He rushed toward the high-speed elevators, but two burly corporate security guards stepped smoothly into his path before he could press the call button.
“Can I help you, sir?” the lead guard asked politely, his tone devoid of warmth.
“I need to see Claire!” Derek demanded, his voice echoing off the marble lobby floor. “I am her husband! Let me up to the executive floor right now!”
“Mr. Mercer,” a calm, smooth voice echoed from behind.
Derek spun around.
Marcus Vance walked out of the private elevator bank, wearing an immaculate charcoal suit, holding a leather portfolio. He stopped a few feet from Derek, looking at him with mild, clinical curiosity.
“Marcus,” Derek stammered, his face flushing with a mix of anger and humiliation. “Thank God. You’re her lawyer. Tell these guards to let me up. This is a family dispute. Claire is my wife, she’s confused, she’s acting out of line—we need to talk privately.”
Marcus offered a thin, polite smile. “Claire is not confused, Derek. In fact, she has never been clearer about what she wants.”
“I want to see her!” Derek shouted, drawing the attention of several passing executives.
“You can see her,” Marcus said evenly, opening his portfolio and pulling out a thick set of legal documents. “Right here. Or more accurately, you can review the divorce petition, the asset forfeiture waiver, and the permanent restraining order prohibiting you from approaching her or your children.”
Derek stared at the papers as if they were venomous snakes. “Divorce? No. We’ve been married for ten years! She can’t just divorce me! I built this life!”
Marcus let out a quiet, dry laugh. “Derek, let’s be entirely honest with each other for once in your life. You didn't build anything. You rented a lifestyle on imaginary credit while your wife quietly bought the very ground beneath your feet. You treated her like a servant, you humiliated her children, and you thought your lies would last forever.”
Marcus extended the papers, pressing them firmly against Derek’s chest.
“Sign the preliminary waiver, Derek. It’ll save you the embarrassment of a public courtroom trial where every single bank record, fake corporate title, and fraudulent loan application you submitted over the last decade gets entered into public record.”
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Derek’s hands trembled so violently he dropped his briefcase. He looked down at the papers, then up at the towering glass doors of the elevator leading to the thirty-fifth floor—where I sat looking down at the city, completely untouchable.
The fight finally drained out of him. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping in total defeat.
