Chapter 5 - The Obsidian GrillThe Obsidian Grill was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the financial district, boasting private mahogany booths, dim crystal lighting, and a clientele consisting exclusively of multi-millionaires, politicians, and high-stakes corporate players.
When I walked through the heavy glass doors wearing a sharp, tailored ivory silk jumpsuit—discarding the emerald dress Daniel had demanded—all conversation at our table stopped.
Daniel’s jaw tightened visibly as he stood up to greet me. His eyes swept over my outfit with irritated disbelief. “I asked you to wear the green dress, Claire. Why are you dressed like you’re heading to a boardroom merger?”
“Because tonight is a business meeting, isn't it?” I replied smoothly, sliding into the leather booth beside Victor.
Victor laughed nervously, adjusting his collar. “Still got that fire in you, huh, sister-in-law? Careful, or Daniel might have to put you in timeout again.”
Across the table sat two unfamiliar men: Richard Vance, a notorious private equity lender known for financing distressed corporate buyouts, and Marcus Thorne, Daniel’s primary financial associate.
“Please excuse my wife,” Daniel forced a tight, strained smile at his guests. “She’s been... a bit stressed lately. But as I was saying, gentlemen, once the Hart estate fully vests at the end of this month, our liquidity crisis is entirely resolved. The commercial properties downtown will be transferred directly under our corporate umbrella.”
Richard Vance nodded approvingly, raising his wine glass. “A brilliant consolidation strategy, Daniel. And your wife’s signature on the spousal transfer waiver guarantees absolute legal immunity from outside creditors.”
I picked up my water glass, took a slow, deliberate sip, and set it down.
“There’s just one small problem with your consolidation strategy, Richard,” I said, my voice carrying clearly across the private booth.
May you like
Daniel’s smile vanished instantly. “Claire. Shut up.”
“No, Daniel,” I continued, meeting Richard Vance’s confused gaze. “You see, my signature on that spousal transfer waiver is required. And unfortunately for you and your private equity friends, I never signed it.”
