Chapter 2 - The Shell GameWhile Arthur and Brooke were being escorted off the property by police, carrying their belongings in black plastic garbage bags, I was sitting in a high-rise conference room downtown.
A cold compress rested against my bandaged neck, but my mind was sharper than it had been in years.
"He tried to access your father's primary trust account three times this afternoon," Victoria said, sliding a tablet across the conference table to me. "He tried using your social security number and a forged power of attorney signature."
I looked at the digital logs. Arthur’s desperation was predictable.
"Did the bank flag it?" I asked, my voice steady despite the deep throb in my jaw.
"Not only did they flag it, but the red flags triggered an automatic freeze on his corporate accounts," Victoria replied. "He thinks he's a genius venture capitalist. But Arthur doesn't realize who owned the fund that gave him his start-up capital six years ago."
Eight years ago, when Arthur proposed, my father was already sick. He warned me about Arthur. “He loves your meekness, Clara, because he mistakes it for weakness. Men like him don't build empires—they leech off them.”
To test Arthur, my father made me promise never to reveal the true scale of our wealth. Arthur believed I made $60,000 a year doing freelance design, while he was the "breadwinner" making $200,000 as managing partner of his firm, Apex Capital.
He didn't know that Apex Capital was 70% owned by a parent entity called Aegis Credit.
And Aegis Credit belonged entirely to me.
My phone buzzed on the table. Arthur’s name flashed across the screen. Then a text message followed:
Clara, you've gone too far. Call off these insane lawyers. I lost my temper, okay? I was stressed about Brooke's business. You know I love you. Let's talk like adults. Come home.
I stared at the screen, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. I lost my temper. Second-degree burns, blistering skin, and eight years of psychological torment reduced to a temporary lapse in temper.
I didn't reply. Instead, I pressed a button on my phone and dialed Detective Miller at the 4th Precinct.
"Detective Miller? This is Clara. My husband is currently attempting to contact me in violation of the temporary restraining order served one hour ago. He is currently located outside the gates of my property."
"We're on our way, Mrs. Vance."
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Down on the street below my apartment, Arthur stood by his BMW, furiously dialing my number again and again. He thought he was dealing with the quiet, obedient wife who cooked his meals, brushed off his insults, and swallowed her pride.
He didn't know that the quiet wife had just signed the order to liquidate Apex Capital.
