Chapter 3 - The Price of Disdain
The next hour was a symphony of dismantled lives. Ethan sat at the dining table, his platinum Rolex—a symbol of the wealth he had stolen and squandered—glinting under the chandelier as he watched his phone explode with notifications. The news was merciless: stock crashes, bank freezes, and the notification that his venture capital firm had been dissolved by a board he didn't even know I sat on.
Margaret tried to intervene, her voice shrill and desperate. "This is absurd! She is a ward of this family! She is a nobody! She has nothing without us!"
Arthur pulled a single leather folio from his jacket, his movements methodical. "She is the sole beneficiary of the Vane trust, the primary shareholder of the firm that effectively owns your husband's debt. She didn't marry into wealth, Margaret. She was the gatekeeper to it. Every luxury item you own, every square foot of this mansion, has been provided to you through her indirect grace."
I walked over to the table, my steps steady despite the trauma that still racked my body. I looked at the bucket of filthy mop water Margaret had kicked at me, then looked back at her, my expression calm. "You wanted the kitchen clean, Margaret? I suggest you start scrubbing. You have a lot of work to do before the bailiffs arrive to inventory the furniture and the art. I want this place spotless before I reclaim it."
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Ethan looked up, his eyes begging for mercy, his voice cracking. "Honey... we can talk about this. I was just... under pressure. We can be a family. Think of Elara."
"You weren't interested in a family," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. "You were interested in an asset. Well, today, your asset is divesting. You’re not a husband, Ethan. You’re an employee who’s being fired for cause."
