Chapter 3 - The Unraveling of Ryan Ward
Ryan stared at me as if I had spoken in a foreign language.
“What... what are you talking about?” he choked out, trying to summon his usual charm, stepping toward the bed with his hands raised defensively. “Emma, honey, you’re sick! The fever is making you crazy! What did my mother do? Did she say something insensitive? You know how she gets when she’s stressed about entertaining—"
“Sit down, Ryan,” Daniel said softly.
It wasn't a request. The tone was so heavy with legal authority that Ryan’s knees actually buckled slightly, and he dropped into the wooden vanity chair near the door.
“Your mother didn't just say something insensitive, Ryan,” I said, resting my hands over the cool thermal blanket. “She physically assaulted me in my bed while I had a 104-degree fever. She confiscated my phone, told me to 'get up and cook' for her relatives, and informed me that I wasn't 'dead yet.'”
Ryan swallowed hard, his eyes flicking nervously toward Daniel’s briefcase. “She... she was just joking, Emma! You know how old-fashioned she is! She belongs to a different generation—”
“And what generation does Chloe Bennett belong to, Ryan?” Daniel asked smoothly.
The air evaporated from the room.
Ryan went so pale he looked as though he had been drained of every drop of blood. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably against his knees.
“Chloe... who?” he stammered, his voice dropping an octave into pure, pathetic panic. “I... I don't know what you're talking about—”
Daniel tapped a button on his tablet screen.
A high-definition audio recording began to play through the room’s speakers. It was a wiretapped phone call from four days ago—a call logged through the commercial property server Ryan used for his consulting business.
“Don't worry about Emma, Chloe baby,” Ryan’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and unmistakable. “She’s practically invisible anyway. She stays in her office upstairs all day typing code. Once the new investment round from Vane Holdings clears next month, I’ll transfer the title of the Malibu condo directly to your name. My mother already picked out the Italian marble for the kitchen.”
The audio stopped.
Silence hung in the master bedroom, heavy and suffocating.
Ryan stared at the floor, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin onto his expensive silk tie. The smooth, confident businessman persona he had spent six years constructing collapsed into dust right before my eyes.
“Emma...” he whispered, looking up at me with raw, terrified eyes. “Please. I can explain. It was... it was a mistake. She manipulated me—”
“You transferred two hundred and eighty thousand dollars from my foundation, Ryan,” I said, looking at him with absolute detachment. “You used my corporate credit cards to buy Cartier bracelets for another woman. You let your mother treat me like a servant in the house I paid for with six years of my blood, sweat, and tears.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Daniel, execute the commercial lease revocation for Ward Consulting LLC immediately.”
“No!” Ryan screamed, leaping out of his chair. “Emma, no! That’s my entire business! The office building on Fifth Avenue—if you revoke the lease, my investors will pull out! I’ll be ruined!”
“You aren't ruined yet, Ryan,” Daniel added, standing up and buttoning his jacket. “You will be ruined tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, when the District Attorney receives the formal file regarding your grand larceny and corporate embezzlement activities.”
“Emma, please!” Ryan threw himself onto his knees beside my bed, reaching out to grab my hand. “I love you! I made a mistake! Don't do this to me! Think about our marriage! Think about our future!”
I pulled my hand back, out of his reach.
“Our marriage died the second you kissed my forehead this morning, told me your mother would 'help me,' and walked out the door to meet your mistress at the Ritz,” I said coldly.
The front doorbell rang again.
May you like
Through the window, two heavy commercial moving trucks pulled into the driveway, their yellow warning lights flashing against the oak trees. Six men in uniform jump suits stepped out, carrying roll wrapping and wardrobe boxes.
“Your movers are here, Ryan,” I said, closing my eyes and resting my head back against the pillow. “Make sure you leave your keys on the counter.”
