Chapter 4 - The Legal Storm
The next forty-eight hours were a whirlwind of motion.
I moved into a suite at the hotel where Owen was staying.
It was the same hotel where the auction had happened,
which felt like a poetic kind of justice.
My legal team,
led by a woman named Sarah Vance,
was relentless.
"We’re not just going for a divorce,"
Sarah said,
laying out a map of Harold's finances.
"We’re going for a total annulment based on fraud."
"And we’re filing for the return of all intellectual property related to the foundation."
"Harold Prescott is a shell,"
"And we’re going to prove it."
I sat in the velvet armchair,
watching the rain hit the window.
"He’ll fight,"
I said.
"He’s built his entire identity on being the 'Great Harold Prescott.'"
"He has nothing else."
Sarah smiled,
a predator's grin.
"That’s the point."
"By the time we’re done,"
"He won't even have his reputation."
Owen joined us for lunch in the suite.
He seemed to be enjoying the chaos he had ignited.
"The press is already buzzing,"
he said.
"They’ve caught wind of the Sterling connection."
"The 'Auctioned Heiress' is a headline that sells a lot of papers."
I winced.
"I don't want the fame,
Owen."
"I know,"
he said gently.
"But you need the leverage."
"The more public this is,"
"The harder it is for Harold to hide his dirty laundry."
Meanwhile,
Harold was melting down.
He had tried to freeze my credit cards,
only to find that I had already closed the accounts.
He had tried to call our mutual friends,
only to find that Owen had already reached out to them.
The people who had laughed at the auction were now sending me flowers.
They were calling to "check in."
They were apologizing for "the misunderstanding."
I ignored them all.
I realized that for twenty-seven years,
I had lived in a world of fair-weather friends.
If I had been the twenty-dollar wife,
none of them would have lifted a finger.
But as the Sterling heiress,
I was the sun they all wanted to orbit.
Harold's assistant,
a young woman named Mia who I had always been kind to,
called me on my private line.
"Mrs. Prescott,"
she whispered,
"He’s destroying the office."
"He’s shredding everything."
"I’ve already made copies of the Macau files,"
I told her.
"Get out of there,
Mia."
"There’s a job waiting for you at the Rodgers Group if you want it."
I heard her gasp of relief.
"Thank you."
I hung up the phone,
feeling a cold satisfaction.
Harold thought he was the one in control,
but he was just a captain on a sinking ship.
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The auction hadn't been the end of my marriage.
It had been the beginning of my reign.
