Chapter 6 - The Fall of the King
On Tuesday morning, forty-eight hours after the gala, Dominic Vale sat in the empty living room of his penthouse on East Lake Shore Drive.
The apartment was unnaturally quiet.
The housekeeper hadn't shown up. The private chef had called in sick. On the glass coffee table sat three formal letters from the board of directors of Vale Holdings, detailing his immediate suspension without pay and demanding the return of all company-issued vehicles and security badges.
Dominic’s personal cell phone buzzed continuously on the table.
He picked it up with shaking hands. It was his lead divorce attorney, Richard Vance.
“Dominic,” Richard’s panicked voice came through the speaker. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the penthouse,” Dominic rasped, his voice sounding hollow. “Richard, what is happening? My credit cards were declined at the parking garage this morning. My corporate accounts are locked!”
“It’s over, Dominic,” Richard said, letting out a heavy sigh. “I spent the last three hours reviewing the trust documents Evelyn’s legal team filed with the Cook County Chancery Court. Your marriage contract wasn't a standard prenuptial agreement. It was an institutional capital lease.”
Dominic squeezed his eyes shut. “What does that mean?”
“It means every dollar Vale Holdings used to buy the warehouses in South Chicago, every crane, every freighter, every contract signed over the last eight years was collateralized by the Cross Family Estate,” Richard explained grimly. “When you declared your intent to dissolve the marriage on Saturday, Clause Nine activated automatically. Evelyn owns eighty-two percent of your physical assets.”
“That’s illegal!” Dominic screamed, slamming his fist onto the coffee table, shattering his crystal coffee mug. “I built this firm! I worked eighteen hours a day!”
“You worked eighteen hours a day using their money, Dominic,” Richard said coldly. “And there’s more.”
Dominic froze. “What else?”
“The FBI’s financial crimes division served a subpoena on Vale Holdings an hour ago,” Richard said. “They’re investigating three million dollars in illegal payments made to Port Commissioner Hatcher for the South Terminal permits.”
Dominic felt a sudden wave of nausea hit him. “Hatcher? I... I paid those invoices through Vanessa’s PR account...”
“Which means your name is on every single wire transfer,” Richard said. “Vanessa Quinn went to the federal prosecutor’s office yesterday afternoon with her attorney. She signed a full cooperation agreement in exchange for immunity. She’s testifying that you authorized the bribes.”
The phone slipped from Dominic’s limp fingers, dropping onto the carpet.
Vanessa had turned on him.
The board had abandoned him.
His company was gone.
His money was frozen.
And the woman he had dismissed at 7:12 PM on Saturday night as a quiet, weak housewife was currently sitting in the corner office on the top floor of the Cross Tower, controlling his entire world.
A sharp knock sounded at the front door of the penthouse.
Dominic stood up, walking like a ghost down the marble hallway. He pulled the heavy door open, expecting to see federal agents with handcuffs.
Instead, standing in the hallway was Evelyn.
She was dressed in an immaculate ivory tailored suit, a dark silk blouse, and dark sunglasses resting atop her hair. Standing behind her were two men in dark suits carrying heavy leather moving boxes.
Dominic stared at her, his lips trembling.
“Evelyn...” he whispered.
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Evelyn didn't look at him with anger or hatred. She looked at him with the cold, detached interest of a landlord inspecting an apartment that had been evicted.
“Good morning, Dominic,” Evelyn said calmly. “You have thirty minutes to pack your personal clothes into two suitcases. The locks on this penthouse are being changed at noon.”
