Chapter 4 - The Currency of Cruelty
"Where is Vanessa today, Michael?" I asked, leaning forward on my elbows. "I noticed she wasn't clinging to your arm in the lobby. Did she choose to stay in the car, or does her version of love only operate when the black card is active?"
Michael’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping violently in his cheek. "This is an ambush. You think you’re smart, Mariana? You think your old man can use his government connections to rewrite a judicial order? Apex was a legitimate marketing expense. I brought those clients to the firm."
"You brought those clients to the firm while drawing a six-figure salary as an internal consultant," Evelyn countered, her voice dropping like an anvil. "Taking an unauthorized, undisclosed commission through a shell company owned by your mistress’s immediate family is the textbook definition of corporate self-dealing and grand larceny under Illinois law. We’ve already submitted the transaction logs to the financial crimes division of the Cook County State's Attorney."
Michael sank into one of the leather chairs, the anger leaving him, replaced by a desperate, hollow panic. "Mariana... please. We were together for nine years. You can't do this to me. If they indict me, my career in this city is finished. No firm will ever hire me as a consultant again."
"You should have thought about your career before you spent $300,000 of my money on a sapphire necklace for the woman you used to destroy our home," I said, my voice entirely devoid of pity. "You told me at the courthouse that some women simply don't know how to hold on to a man. Well, Michael, it turns out some men don't know how to survive without a woman providing their oxygen."
He looked at me, realizing for the first time that the gentle, accommodating wife who had spent years smoothing over his temper tantrums and making excuses for his failures was gone. In her place was the CEO who had conquered Chicago’s design market through sheer intellect and resilience.
"What do you want?" he whispered, his head bowing.
"I want a full, uncontested revision of the divorce decree," I said, sliding a new set of terms across the table. "You will surrender all claims to the family trust. You will return every dollar siphoned into Apex Creative Consulting. You will forfeit your share of the lakefront property, and you will sign a non-disclosure agreement that prohibits you from ever mentioning my name or my firm to the media."
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"That leaves me with nothing," Michael stammered, looking at the papers. "I won't even have enough to pay the retainer for my defense lawyers."
"Then I suggest you sell that luxury SUV you were laughing in on Friday," my father said from the window. "Because the state's attorney doesn't wait for your schedule, Michael. Sign the papers, or the next place you'll be signing your name is on a fingerprint card at the precinct."
