The judge looked at Henry Cole. «And for the defense?»
Henry stood slowly. He didn’t smooth his jacket. He didn’t posture. «Henry Cole for the defendant. And, Your Honor, we are filing a counter-motion.»
«A counter-motion?» Judge Patterson raised an eyebrow. «On what grounds? The prenup is standard.»
«We are not contesting the prenup, Your Honor,» Henry said, his voice soft but carrying to every corner of the room. «We are enforcing it. Specifically, the clause regarding the division of assets acquired independently of the marital union.»
Gregory whispered to Grimshaw, «What is he doing? I have all the assets.»
«Shut up,» Grimshaw whispered back, sweat beading on his forehead.
«Go on, Mr. Cole,» the judge said.
«My client,» Henry continued, gesturing to Samantha, «was removed from the marital home three weeks ago without resources. The plaintiff claimed that the home, the cars, and the business, Dalton Tech, were his sole property. However, we have evidence that suggests a significant fraudulent misrepresentation of asset ownership.»
«Objection!» Grimshaw roared. «This is a fishing expedition. Gregory Dalton built that company from the ground up.»
«With whose money?» Henry asked sharply.
«Venture capital!» Gregory shouted, unable to help himself.
«The Artemis Group,» Henry smiled. It was the smile of a wolf who had just cornered a rabbit. «Exactly. The Artemis Group. Your Honor, I would like to submit Exhibit A, the incorporation papers of the Artemis Group.»
Henry walked to the bench and handed a file to the judge, then dropped a copy on Grimshaw’s table. Grimshaw opened it. His face went pale. He looked at the paper, then at Samantha, then back at the paper.
«Read the name of the sole beneficiary, Counselor,» Henry said.
Grimshaw swallowed hard. «Samantha Kensington.»
A gasp rippled through the courtroom.
«Kensington?» Lucille whispered loudly. «Like the hotel chain? The bank?»
«Like Harrison Kensington,» Henry corrected, turning to face the gallery. «The industrialist.»
Gregory looked like he had been hit by a truck. «What? No, Sam’s last name is Hayes. She’s a nobody from Ohio. Her mother’s maiden name was Hayes.»
Samantha spoke for the first time. Her voice was crystal clear. «I used it because I wanted to know if a man could love me for me, not for my father’s billions. I got my answer, Gregory.»
The judge was reading the documents with wide eyes. «Mr. Grimshaw, this document shows that the Artemis Group provided 85% of the initial funding for Dalton Tech. It also states that the funding was a conditional loan, callable at any time by the beneficiary.»
«Callable?» Gregory choked out.
«It means,» Henry said, turning to Gregory, «that you owe the Artemis Group, and by extension Samantha, twelve million dollars plus interest. Immediate payment. Or, under the terms of the loan, forfeiture of all IP and physical assets.»
«This is insane!» Gregory stood up, his face purple. «She’s lying. She served coffee! She doesn’t know anything about business!»
«Sit down, Mr. Dalton!» the judge barked.
«But wait, there’s more,» Henry said, holding up a finger. «Since you evicted the beneficiary from her home, you violated the good faith clause of the investment agreement, which triggers a penalty clause.»
Henry turned to the judge. «Your Honor, we move to freeze all assets of Dalton Tech and Gregory Dalton personally, pending a forensic audit. We also move to invalidate the NDA regarding the upcoming merger, as the primary stakeholder, Mrs. Dalton, was not consulted.»
«Merger?» The judge looked at Gregory. «You were selling a company you didn’t fully own?»
«I own it!» Gregory screamed. «She’s just a wife. She’s nothing!»
«She,» Henry said, his voice booming now, «is the woman who paid for your suits. She is the woman who paid for your office. And she is the woman whose name you just dragged through the mud.»
«I grant the motion.» Judge Patterson slammed his gavel. «Assets frozen immediately. Mr. Dalton, you are not to leave the jurisdiction. Mr. Grimshaw, get your client under control.»
The courtroom erupted. Reporters were frantically typing on their phones. Lucille Dalton had slumped in her seat, clutching her pearls, looking as if she might faint. Brittany had already stood up and was edging toward the exit, realizing the gravy train had just derailed.
Gregory stood there, shaking. He looked at Samantha. For the first time in years, he really looked at her. He saw the power in her posture, the cold intelligence in her eyes.
«Sam,» he whispered, his voice trembling. «Sam, we can talk about this. Baby, please.»
Samantha stood up. She smoothed her white jacket. She looked him in the eye, and the entire room held its breath.
«You’re right, Gregory,» she said. «The prenup is ironclad. You leave with what you came in with.» She paused, glancing at his expensive watch. «Actually, I paid for that watch. Take it off.»
The walk from the courtroom to the parking lot felt like a funeral procession for Gregory Dalton’s life. The press, usually uninterested in the divorce proceedings of mid-level tech CEOs, had been tipped off. The name «Kensington» had gone out over the police scanners and court blogs like a distress flare.
By the time Gregory pushed open the heavy double doors of the courthouse, a wall of flashbulbs blinded him.
«Mr. Dalton, is it true you tried to defraud Harrison Kensington’s daughter?»
«Did you really throw her out in a blizzard?»
«Gregory, are you insolvent?»
The questions were like darts, piercing the armor of arrogance he had worn so comfortably just an hour ago. Beside him, Lucille was using her crocodile-skin handbag to shield her face, muttering curses about vultures and low-class peasants. Arthur Grimshaw, the shark, was nowhere to be seen. He had slipped out the back entrance the moment the judge pounded the gavel, realizing that a frozen client was a non-paying client.
Gregory pushed through the crowd, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He reached his Aston Martin, fumbling for the keys. He needed to get to the office. He needed to fix this. It was just a misunderstanding, a leverage play. He could smooth it over.
But when he slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition, the engine sputtered and died. The dashboard lit up with a singular, terrifying message: Remote disable. Contact lender.
«No,» Gregory hissed, jamming the start button again. «No, no, no.»
«What is it?» Lucille shrieked from the passenger seat. «Start the car, Gregory! These people are touching the windows!»
«They killed the car,» Gregory stared at the dashboard in horror. «The lease. It’s under the company name. The assets are frozen.»
They had to take a taxi. The ride to Dalton Tech was silent, filled only with the heavy breathing of two people watching their world collapse in real time. When they arrived at the glass and steel tower in Midtown, Gregory didn’t even wait for his change. He sprinted into the lobby, ignoring the startled look of the security guard, a man named Ralph, whom Gregory had never bothered to greet in five years.
«Mr. Dalton? Wait,» Ralph called out, stepping out from behind the desk. «Access has been restricted.»
Gregory spun around, his face flushed. «Restricted? I own this building. I am the CEO.»
«Not as of twenty minutes ago, sir,» Ralph said, looking uncomfortable but firm. «We got a call from the receivership court. A Mr. Henry Cole sent over a writ. No one enters the executive suite without a federal monitor present. Your badge has been deactivated.»
Gregory stared at the turnstiles. The little light on the scanner was a solid, unyielding red. He looked around the lobby. Employees were whispering, glancing at him over their lattes. He saw the pity in their eyes. Or worse, the amusement. They knew. The email had probably already gone out.
«Fine,» Gregory spat, straightening his jacket. «I’ll work from home. I have the merger call at two. I don’t need this office.»
But the nightmare was only beginning. By the time Gregory and Lucille returned to the mansion—via a second taxi that Gregory had to pay for with the crumpled cash he found in his pocket because his corporate AMEX had been declined—the reality of the freeze was setting in.
The mansion was eerily quiet. Usually at this hour, the housekeeper, Maria, would be vacuuming or the cook would be prepping lunch.
«Maria!» Lucille called out, dropping her furs on the entry bench. «We need tea and something strong for Gregory.»
Silence. They walked into the kitchen. It was empty. On the marble island sat a neat pile of keys and a note. Lucille snatched it up.