Chapter 11 - The Postnuptial Clause
The legal department at Reed Global had grown very quiet in the three months since Richard Reed’s arrest. The lawyers who used to hover outside Graham’s office like vultures now practically tiptoed past the frosted glass, terrified of invoking the wrath of the newly restructured executive suite.
Which made the arrival of a thick, cream-colored envelope marked Personal and Confidential on my desk all the more jarring.
I slit the envelope open with a letter opener, pulling out a three-page document printed on heavy parchment. At the top, bold gothic lettering read: POSTNUPTIAL ASSET RESTRUCTURING AGREEMENT.
Before I could read past the second paragraph, the connecting door to Graham’s office clicked open. He stepped through, rolling up his shirt sleeves, looking entirely too relaxed for a man whose company was currently merging with two regional transit networks.
"If this is about the quarterly data projections for the Denver hub, I already optimized the script," I said, waving the parchment in the air.
Graham stopped midway across the room, his dark eyes locking onto the document in my hand. The playful smirk vanished from his face, replaced instantly by the defensive perimeter of the Ice King.
"Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.
"It was sitting right on top of my inbox, courtesy of corporate legal," I replied, standing up and walking around the desk. "Graham, what is a fifty-fifty voting parity clause tied directly to our personal marriage certificate?"
Graham exhaled slowly, leaning back against the edge of the mahogany credenza. "It’s a safeguard. When we got married in Vegas, it was under emergency statutes. If we ever decided to separate amicably—or otherwise—our assets would remain legally entangled unless formally restructured."
"Entangled?" I stepped closer, waving the paper between us. "Graham, this document says that if either of us files for divorce, the controlling shares of Reed Global are automatically placed into a blind trust split evenly between us, rendering hostile takeovers legally impossible forever."
"Precisely," he said calmly.
"You wrote a divorce-proof corporate defense mechanism into our marriage certificate?"
"I wrote a lifetime partnership guarantee into our corporate charter," Graham corrected, stepping into my personal space until I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "The wedding in Vegas wasn't a mistake, Avery. It was the best decision I ever made. This document just makes sure no one can ever tear us apart—legally, corporate-wise, or otherwise."
Before I could formulate a sarcastic response to mask the way my heart had just skipped a beat, my desk phone buzzed sharply.
I picked up the receiver. "Vance."
"Mrs. Reed?" It was the receptionist downstairs, her voice tight with panic. "You have a visitor in the lobby. He refused to give his name, but he insisted on handing this security badge directly to building security."
A heavy silence fell over the office.
May you like
Graham’s eyes narrowed. "Who is it?"
"He said," the receptionist swallowed hard, "he’s the executor of your father-in-law’s private estate, Mr. Reed. And he brought something that Richard Reed spent twenty years trying to destroy."
