Chapter 4 - THE MORNING AFTER
-4-
Morning sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows of the Brooks manor, casting warm golden patterns across the hardwood floors. I woke up feeling more rested than I had in months. The constant, gnawing anxiety that had defined my marriage to Dominic—the subtle pressure to shrink myself, to apologize for breathing too loudly, to make sure his fragile ego was never bruised—was entirely gone.
After a nourishing breakfast prepared by the estate's private chef and a quiet morning nursing Leo, I sat in the sunroom overlooking the manicured rose gardens. My father joined me shortly before nine, holding a cup of black coffee and a tablet displaying real-time financial tracking feeds.
"The legal team has already served the papers," my father announced, taking a seat across from me. "Marcus's associates delivered the divorce filing, the asset seizure notices for the luxury SUV, and the immediate loan recall notice to Dominic’s office and his apartment building at precisely eight-thirty this morning."
"How did he react?" I asked, taking a slow sip of my tea.
My father smiled grimly. "According to our security detail stationed outside his office building, he threw a screaming fit in the lobby of Vance Technologies. He tried to claim the funding was secure, threatened to sue our attorneys, and demanded an emergency meeting with our investment partners. Naturally, he was escorted off the premises by building security within five minutes."
"He probably thinks this is some kind of mistake," I mused, watching a pair of sparrows dart between the rosebushes. "He still believes I'm just a helpless girl who crawled out of a modest suburban home."
"Well, he's about to receive a very rude awakening," my father said, tapping the screen of his tablet. "Marcus is setting up a formal deposition room in the east wing this afternoon. Dominic has been summoned to appear alongside his legal counsel—if he can afford one by noon."
Just as my father finished speaking, my private phone—a secure, encrypted device separate from the one Dominic had been spamming—buzzed against the marble table. I picked it up. An alert from our private security feed at the front gates flashed on the screen.
A familiar black luxury SUV—our black SUV—had just pulled up to the outer security checkpoint of the Brooks estate.
I looked up at my father. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
"Well, look who decided to RSVP," my father murmured.
Through the live camera feed displayed on the tablet, we watched as Dominic stepped out of the driver's seat. He looked disheveled. His expensive designer suit jacket was unbuttoned, his tie was slightly crooked, and his face was flushed with a mixture of absolute panic and incandescent rage. He was shouting at the security intercom, demanding that the gates be opened immediately so he could speak to his "wife."
The head of security at the gate answered calmly through the speaker: "Mr. Vance, you are trespassing on private property owned by Brooks Global Corporation. Turn your vehicle around and leave immediately, or you will be detained for criminal trespass."
Dominic slammed his fist against the intercom pillar, screaming curses that were muted by the audio filter. He jumped back into the SUV, threw the vehicle into reverse, spun the tires on the asphalt, and sped off down the private country road, heading back toward the city.
"He's running on pure adrenaline and blind arrogance," my father observed, taking a calm sip of his coffee. "He still thinks he can salvage his status by going to his parents or trying to spin a narrative to his investors."
"Let him try," I said softly, looking down at my sleeping son resting peacefully in his carrier beside my chair. "Every step he takes right now is just walking deeper into the trap he built for himself."
Later that morning, Marcus Vance arrived in the east wing study with a stack of freshly printed financial audits, emails, and corporate communications. He laid them out across the large mahogany desk with the clinical precision of a surgeon preparing for an operation.
"Audrey," Marcus began, adjusting his glasses. "While reviewing Dominic's company accounts this morning, our forensic accountants discovered something interesting. It appears that over the past six months, while you were pregnant, Dominic was quietly funneling company R&D funds into a personal offshore account registered in the Cayman Islands under a shell company."
I narrowed my eyes. "An offshore account? What was he using it for?"
" Primarily luxury assets, private club memberships, and..." Marcus paused, glancing briefly at my father before looking back at me. "...financial support for a luxury apartment downtown leased under the name of Natalie’s close friend, Chloe Mendez."
The room went dead silent. A cold fury ignited in my chest, burning away any lingering shreds of sympathy I might have foolishly harbored for the man I had married. While I was home struggling through a difficult pregnancy, dealing with severe morning sickness and the physical toll of carrying his child, Dominic had been embezzling company funds to maintain a secret mistress and a lavish bachelor lifestyle.
"Embezzlement of venture capital funds combined with corporate fraud," my father said, his voice dangerously quiet. "That's not just a civil breach of contract, Marcus. That's a federal felony."
"Indeed," Marcus confirmed, sliding a thick legal folder across the desk toward me. "If we hand these documents over to federal prosecutors, Dominic won't just lose his company and his social standing. He's looking at a minimum of five to ten years in federal prison."
I looked down at the documents, tracing my finger over the fraudulent wire transfer receipts. Dominic had spent years preaching about integrity, business ethics, and entrepreneurial vision. He had looked down on everyone around him, convinced of his own moral and intellectual superiority.
"Don't file the criminal charges just yet, Marcus," I said calmly, looking up at our legal counsel.
May you like
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning to give him a settlement opportunity?"
"No," I replied, a cold, calculated smile touching my lips. "I want to watch him lose everything he cares about first. I want him to stand in front of his investors, his social circle, and his precious family with empty pockets and a ruined reputation, begging for a way out—before we pull the rug out completely."
