«You look tense, babe,» Brittany purred one evening, tracing the rim of her martini glass. They were at Le Bernardin, sitting at the best table in the house.
«Just anticipation,» Gregory smiled, though his stomach was in knots. The merger was the biggest deal of his life. If it went through, he wouldn’t just be rich; he would be wealthy. «The shareholders are meeting next week. Once the divorce is finalized on Friday, I’m a free man with a clean slate.»
«The board loves stability, and getting rid of the dead weight was actually a recommendation from the consultants.»
«Dead weight,» Brittany giggled. «She really was, wasn’t she? I saw a picture of her. So plain.»
«She served a purpose,» Gregory said dismissively. «But you don’t keep the training wheels on when you’re ready to ride the Ducati.»
Whatever guilt Gregory might have felt was easily washed away by the validation of his mother, Lucille. She called him daily to congratulate him on reclaiming the family dignity. To them, Samantha had just been a temporary employee who had overstayed her contract.
Meanwhile, across the city, Samantha was living a very different reality. She wasn’t staying at the Plaza, and she wasn’t in a penthouse. Not yet. She was staying in a small, nondescript guest room in a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. It was comfortable, warm, and smelled of old books and lemon polish.
Sitting across from her was Henry Cole. He wasn’t a flashy lawyer. He wore a cardigan, looked like a kindly grandfather, and worked out of a small office that smelled of pipe tobacco. But anyone who knew the real history of New York law knew that Henry Cole didn’t lose. He didn’t argue cases; he dismantled them.
«They filed for an expedited hearing,» Henry said, sliding a thick document across the coffee table. «Friday at 9 o’clock. Judge Patterson is presiding. He’s a tough old bird, usually favors the breadwinner. Grimshaw is counting on you not showing up, or showing up with a public defender who hasn’t had time to read the brief.»
Samantha stared at the paperwork. They listed irreconcilable differences and «failure to contribute to marital assets.» She let out a dry, humorless laugh.
«Failure to contribute? I managed the household accounts. I introduced him to the investor that saved his company in 2018. Remember Mr. Henderson? I was the one who charmed him at the charity gala while Gregory was too drunk to speak.»
«We know, Samantha,» Henry said softly. «But in the eyes of the court, without documentation, that’s just hearsay. The prenup waives your right to spousal support unless we can prove duress or fraud.»
«I don’t want support,» Samantha said, her eyes flashing with a steeliness that reminded Henry vividly of her father. «I want justice. I want them to understand that they didn’t just discard a wife. They discarded the only thing protecting them.»
Henry smiled, a slow, dangerous curling of his lips. «I spoke to your father this morning.»
Samantha stiffened. «And?»
«He’s eager. He wanted to buy the bank holding Gregory’s mortgage and foreclose immediately. I told him to wait. That’s too easy. It’s too quick.» Henry leaned forward. «We have something better. I’ve been digging into Dalton Tech’s financials. Gregory has been sloppy. Arrogant men usually are.»
«He’s been leveraging assets he doesn’t fully own to push this merger through.»
«The warehouse on Fifth?» Samantha asked.
«Exactly. And the patent for the new software algorithm. He listed them as sole property of Dalton Tech.»
Samantha’s brow furrowed. «Aren’t they?»
«Technically, yes,» Henry said. «But the original funding for those assets came from a distinct trust, a ‘silent angel investor’ back when the company was a garage startup. Do you remember who signed the check for the seed money?»
Samantha closed her eyes, thinking back to those days of ramen noodles and late nights. «It was the Artemis Group. Gregory said it was some venture capital firm.»
«The Artemis Group,» Henry nodded. «A shell company, wholly owned by a blind trust.» He paused for effect. «A trust established in 1993. The beneficiary of that trust is you, Samantha.»
The room went silent. The ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to boom.
«Me?» Samantha whispered.
«Your father set it up when you ran away from home to be with Gregory. He couldn’t stop you. And he knew you wouldn’t take his money directly. So he funneled it into Gregory’s business so you wouldn’t starve. Gregory Dalton doesn’t own his company, Samantha. In a roundabout way… you do.»
Samantha sat back, the breath leaving her lungs. For ten years, Gregory had strutted around like a king, claiming he was a self-made man, belittling her for her lack of ambition. All the while, he was spending her money. His success was literally her inheritance.
«Does he know?» she asked.
«No. And neither does Grimshaw. They think the Artemis Group is just a silent partner they can buy out after the merger.» Henry closed the folder. «On Friday, we aren’t just going to contest the divorce. We’re going to audit the marriage.»
«He humiliated me, Henry,» Samantha said, her voice trembling with a mix of grief and fury. «He threw me in the snow like garbage.»
«Then on Friday,» Henry said, standing up and offering her a hand, «we will bury him in an avalanche.»
Friday morning arrived with a leaden sky. The Superior Court of New York was buzzing. The divorce of Gregory Dalton, the rising tech star, was minor news. But the presence of Arthur P. Grimshaw ensured a gallery full of legal interns and curious onlookers. Everyone wanted to see the shark devour a helpless victim.
Gregory arrived in a charcoal Armani suit, looking every inch the victor. Lucille was on his arm, draped in furs, looking at the courtroom benches with disdain. Brittany was there too, sitting in the second row, trying to look demure in a navy dress that was slightly too tight.
«She’s late,» Gregory muttered, checking his Rolex. It was 8:58 a.m.
«Probably couldn’t afford the subway fare,» Lucille snickered. «Don’t worry, darling. If she’s a no-show, we get a default judgment. It’s even better.»
Grimshaw, a man who looked like a bulldog in a pinstripe suit, leaned over. «If she does show up, don’t say a word, Gregory. Let me handle the theatrics. We’ll paint her as a gold digger who contributed nothing.»
At 9:06 a.m. sharp, the heavy oak doors swung open. The room didn’t go silent immediately. It was a gradual hush, starting from the back and rolling forward like a wave.
Samantha walked in. She wasn’t wearing the rags they expected. She wasn’t wearing the cheap department store suit she used to wear to church. She was wearing a tailored white power suit that cost more than Gregory’s car. Her hair, usually pulled back in a messy bun, was sleek, straight, and shining. She wore dark sunglasses, which she removed slowly as she walked down the center aisle.
But it wasn’t her appearance that caused the stir. It was the man walking beside her. Arthur Grimshaw’s jaw literally dropped. He nudged Gregory violently.
«Is that Henry Cole?»
«Who?» Gregory asked, oblivious.
«Henry Cole,» Grimshaw hissed. «He hasn’t taken a divorce case in twenty years. He represents royalty. He represents nations. Why is he walking with your wife?»
Samantha took her seat at the defendant’s table. She didn’t look at Gregory. She didn’t look at Lucille. She pulled out a fountain pen and placed it on the table with a precise, deliberate click.
«All rise,» the bailiff bellowed.
Judge Patterson entered, looking bored. «Docket number 40492, Dalton versus Dalton. Let’s make this quick. I have a full schedule.»
Grimshaw stood up, smoothing his jacket. «Your Honor, Arthur Grimshaw for the plaintiff. My client seeks a dissolution of marriage based on the prenuptial agreement signed ten years ago. We are also asking for a dismissal of any alimony claims, citing the defendant’s lack of contribution to the marital estate.»