Chapter 3 - THE EMPIRE'S FAULT LINES
Three months passed in a blur of morning sickness, confidential boardroom meetings in Boston, and relentless media headlines celebrating the impending Ashford-Blake society wedding.
Reid was everywhere. He appeared on morning talk shows, his arm wrapped tightly around Marissa, boasting about Ashford Global’s upcoming public listing and their proprietary cloud technology, which he claimed would revolutionize automated enterprise security. Marissa flaunted a twelve-carat flawless emerald-cut diamond, hinting to fashion magazines that their destination wedding in Lake Como would cost upwards of fifteen million dollars.
Behind the glittering facade, however, the first cracks were beginning to show.
Inside the glass-walled executive suite of Ashford Global in Minneapolis, Reid stared at a red-lined quarterly audit. His chief technology officer, Marcus Bennett, stood across the desk with sweat beading on his forehead.
"What do you mean the international licensing authority won't clear the regulatory filing?" Reid barked, slamming the leather-bound ledger onto the mahogany surface. "The sovereign wealth fund from Singapore is scheduled to wire the four-hundred-million-dollar anchor investment by Friday!"
"Reid, the CoreLink patent isn't registering under Ashford Global's corporate umbrella," Marcus stammered, pulling at his collar. "When the compliance officers ran the global chain of custody, the primary encryption key showed up as the exclusive property of Sterling-Vanguard Holdings."
Reid’s brow furrowed in irritation. "Sterling-Vanguard? That's just a dormant holding company Claire's grandfather left behind. Claire signed the standard divorce waiver. She gave up all claims to my assets."
"She gave up claims to your personal assets, Reid," Marcus corrected quietly, his eyes darting to the floor. "She didn't relinquish her family’s private IP holdings. During the 2021 liquidity crunch, you signed the collateral transfer agreement. If Sterling-Vanguard pulls the CoreLink license, our entire system goes dark. We can't go public, and we breach our agreement with the sovereign fund."
Reid fell back into his leather ergonomic chair, a surge of hot frustration surging through his veins. He remembered the night he signed that agreement—it was late, he was desperate to make payroll, and Claire had brought him warm tea and a pen, assuring him that everything she had was his. He had never imagined a day when she wouldn't be there to shield him.
The office door swung open, and Marissa glided inside wrapped in a chinchilla fur coat, followed by two personal assistants carrying luxury garment bags.
"Reid, darling!" she purred, ignoring the tense atmosphere. "The private jet coordinator needs your authorization for the Lake Como guest shuttles. And the floral designer from Milan requires another two-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit today."
For the first time in six months, Reid looked at Marissa’s immaculate face and felt a sudden, suffocating irritation. "Not now, Marissa. We have a critical boardroom issue."
Marissa paused, lowering her designer sunglasses, her gaze sharpening. "A critical issue? Reid, half the fashion world and every major CEO in New York is flying out for this wedding. Don't tell me your little software firm is having cash-flow hiccups."
"Ashford Global is not a 'little software firm,'" Reid snapped, his voice echoing across the suite.
Marissa gave a cold, dismissive shrug. "Then sign the wire transfers and fix it. You promised me a wedding that would overshadow the Met Gala. Deliver on your promise."
As Marissa swept out of the room, Reid pulled out his personal phone and dialed the number he hadn't thought about since the courthouse steps.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
May you like
A knot of unease tightened in Reid’s stomach. Claire hadn't called. She hadn't sued for alimony. She hadn't leaked a single word to the tabloids. She had vanished completely—and in her absence, Reid was beginning to realize that the foundation beneath his feet was made of sand.
*
