Chapter 3 - The Silent Partner's Revenge
The morning sun hit the suite at the Pierre Hotel,
casting long shadows across the breakfast tray I hadn't touched.
I sat by the window,
watching the city wake up,
my laptop open on my knees.
I had spent the last four hours systematically cutting every financial tie I had to Ambrose.
It wasn't about the money;
I had more than enough from my own family’s inheritance.
It was about the power.
Ambrose Blackwell believed that the world moved because he willed it so.
He didn't realize that I was the one who kept the gears greased.
I sent a final email to the board of directors of Blackwell Industries.
It contained the footage from the penthouse security cameras,
not of his infidelity,
but of his erratic behavior and his mishandling of the foundation’s funds.
I felt a sharp kick in my stomach,
a reminder that I wasn't alone in this fight.
"We’re almost there,"
I whispered,
placing my hand over the spot.
My lawyer,
Sarah,
called ten minutes later.
"He’s panicking,
Jackie,"
she said,
her voice crackling with professional glee.
"He’s tried to freeze your personal accounts,
but we’ve already moved them to the Caymans."
"He’s also tried to file for an emergency injunction to keep you from leaving the state."
"On what grounds?"
I asked.
"That you’re 'emotionally unstable' due to the pregnancy."
I laughed,
a cold,
hard sound.
"Of course he did."
"Standard Ambrose playbook."
"When you can't control the woman,
attack her sanity."
"Well,
it’s not going to work,"
Sarah continued.
"We have the medical records from your last three check-ups,
showing you’re in perfect health."
"And we have the private investigator’s report on his...
nocturnal activities."
"He’s cornered,
Jackie."
"What do you want to do now?"
I looked out at Central Park,
at the trees beginning to turn gold with the coming autumn.
"I want him to see me one last time,"
I said.
"Not as a wife."
"But as the person who is taking his company away from him."
"Schedule a board meeting for Monday."
"I’m exercising my rights as the majority shareholder of the Blackwell-Hart merger."
There was a pause on the line.
"You’re going to show up?"
"I’m going to be the most stable person in that room,"
I replied.
I hung up the phone and stood up,
stretching my aching back.
For years,
I had played the role of the submissive billionaire's wife,
the woman who smiled at galas and kept the house running.
But Ambrose had forgotten that I had a degree in corporate law and an IQ higher than his net worth.
He had treated me like a trophy.
May you like
But trophies are made of metal.
And metal can be forged into a blade.
