Chapter 7 - The Final Audit
Two weeks later, the legal proceedings were moving faster than a freight train down a mountain.
Lucas tried to fight back initially, hiring a high-priced divorce lawyer from downtown to contest the asset freeze and claim that the prenuptial agreement was signed under duress. But his defense collapsed like a house of cards the moment Lydia submitted our digital forensics report to the court.
When Lucas’s lawyer saw the paper trail—dozens of unauthorized wire transfers, hotel receipts stamped with his signature, and explicit text messages coordinating financial cover-ups with his mistress—he dropped the case within forty-eight hours.
Lucas was left with no legal ground to stand on, no money to fund his lavish lifestyle, and no mother to bail him out after Beatrice’s own bank accounts were scrutinized for accepting thousands of dollars in suspiciously timed gifts from Lucas’s corporate accounts.
On a crisp Friday morning, I sat at my desk in the small administrative office upstairs from Lumina, reviewing our weekly supplier invoices.
A sharp knock echoed on my open office door.
I looked up.
Lucas stood in the doorway.
He looked like a ghost of the man I had married. His expensive designer suit was rumpled, his dark hair unwashed, and deep, purple bruises of exhaustion bruised the skin beneath his bloodshot eyes. He looked small, defeated, and utterly hollowed out.
“May I come in?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly, devoid of all the arrogant swagger he used to carry.
I didn't invite him to sit down, but I didn't chase him out either. I simply set my pen down and looked at him across the desk.
“You have five minutes, Lucas,” I said evenly. “Then Gavin will escort you out.”
Lucas swallowed hard, stepping slowly into the small office and gripping the back of the empty chair opposite my desk.
“I came to... to talk,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “My lawyer called this morning. He said... he said the settlement terms are final. That I’m getting nothing. Not the house, not the car, not a single penny from the business accounts.”
“You’re getting exactly what you earned,” I replied without blinking.
Lucas stared at me, tears welling in the corners of his eyes—not tears of genuine remorse, but tears of self-pity.
“Camilla, please,” he choked out, his voice breaking as he leaned forward. “We were together for six years. Did any of it mean nothing to you? Can’t we work this out? Drop the embezzlement charges, settle the divorce amicably—we can start over! Move to the suburbs, leave the restaurant behind—”
“Leave the restaurant behind?” I interrupted, letting out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Lucas, do you hear yourself? You spent three years watching me bleed, sweat, and sacrifice everything to build Lumina from the ground up. While you were out funding a secret life with my hard-earned capital, you expected me to stay quiet, cook your meals, and play the dutiful little wife.”
Lucas opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“I didn't build this restaurant for you,” I said, standing up slowly behind my desk, towering over him with absolute, unyielding authority. “I built it for me. And you will never, ever touch another cent of what I’ve created.”
I walked over to the office door, opened it wide, and pointed down the hallway toward the stairs.
May you like
“Get out, Lucas. And don't ever come back here again.”
He stood there for a long, agonizing moment, realizing that every bridge he had burned was now nothing more than ash. Without another word, he turned around, lowered his head, and shuffled down the stairs, disappearing out the front doors of Lumina for the very last time.
