Chapter 8 - THE REPUTATION BURIAL
Michael’s plan to launch a rival firm was the talk of the industry.
He had spent the last two days calling every contact we had.
He was promising them a leaner,
meaner version of Carter Global.
He was using my data.
My strategies.
My projections.
He really thought I wouldn't notice.
I sat at my desk,
surrounded by the files I had gathered over the years.
I drafted a letter to the top five venture capital firms in the city.
I didn't mention the affair.
I didn't mention the "Cold" spray-painted on my house.
I focused on the intellectual property.
"Please be advised that the strategic frameworks and proprietary data currently being presented by Michael Carter are the exclusive property of Claire Carter."
"Any investment in a firm utilizing this data will be met with immediate legal action for IP theft."
I attached the copyright filings.
I attached the non-disclosure agreements Michael had signed himself when we first started the firm.
I hit 'Send.'
Within an hour,
the responses started coming in.
"Thank you for the heads-up,
Claire."
"We were unaware of the IP dispute."
"We will be pausing our discussions with Mr. Carter."
By sunset,
Michael’s new venture was dead in the water.
No investor would touch him with a ten-foot pole.
He was toxic.
He was a thief.
And he was broke.
My phone rang.
It was a number I didn't recognize,
but I knew the area code.
It was a payphone.
"You're stripping me of everything,"
Michael rasped.
He sounded like he had been drinking.
"You're taking my house,
my job,
and now my future."
"You did that to yourself,
Michael,"
I said,
my voice devoid of emotion.
"I’m just protecting my work."
"You never loved me,"
he accused.
"You just loved the power."
"I loved the man I thought you were,"
I replied.
"But that man never existed."
"He was just a costume you wore to get what you wanted."
"I'm at a bar on 42nd street,
Claire."
"I have nothing left."
"Then I suggest you stop drinking and start looking for a lawyer who works pro-bono,"
I said.
"Because the divorce papers are being served tomorrow morning."
I hung up and felt a profound sense of relief.
The power dynamic had completely shifted.
I was no longer reacting to him.
He was reacting to me.
I went to the kitchen and made myself a sandwich.
It was a simple life now.
No galas.
No scandals.
Just me.
And the quiet satisfaction of a job well done.
The security guard outside checked in via the intercom.
"All clear,
Ms. Carter."
"Thank you,"
I said.
"Sleep well."
I went to bed in the guest room,
May you like
on a mattress that had never seen Brittany Adams.
I slept for ten hours.
