Chapter 2 - The Sound of Closing DoorsI stared at the glowing screen of my phone until the screen went dark. Then it vibrated again, the digital letters mocking my arrogance: Victor Sterling, Esq.
I pressed accept, my thumb slippery with cold sweat.
"Sterling," I barked, trying to inject the familiar boardroom authority into my voice, though it sounded hollow inside the empty, echoing office.
"Mr. Blackwood," Victor’s voice came through the speaker, calm, measured, and entirely devoid of professional warmth. "I trust you found the documents on your desk. Or did you expect your return from Tokyo to be greeted by a quiet dinner and a loyal wife?"
"Where is my wife?" I demanded, gripping the edge of the mahogany desk so hard my knuckles turned white. "Where is my son? This is a kidnapping, Victor. If Elena thinks she can pack up and take Harrison without my consent—"
"Your wife is safe, Julian. And she is where you will never, ever find her without a court order," Victor interrupted smoothly. "Furthermore, she is not your property. She is the petitioner in a comprehensive filing for divorce, sole legal and physical custody, and emergency freezing of all marital and corporate assets."
The words hit me like a physical blow to the stomach.
"Assets?" I laughed, a bitter, hysterical sound. "That’s absurd. Blackwood Enterprises is valued at over eight hundred million dollars. My family name built this city. Elena was an art history graduate with a student loan when I met her. She owns nothing without me."
"Correction, Mr. Blackwood," Victor said, and I could hear the faint rustle of paper on his end. "Thirty-six hours ago, a forensic audit ordered by Mrs. Blackwood’s legal team revealed that your secret shell companies in the Caymans, your offshore accounts funding your Aspen residence with Miss Isabel Thorne, and your systematic diversion of corporate reserve funds have been meticulously documented. Not by a private investigator. By your wife."
My breath caught.
"What?"
"Elena is not just an art history graduate, Julian. Before she gave up her career to raise your son, she was a senior investigative financial analyst for the Federal Reserve. You thought you were marrying a sweet, quiet girl you could mold into a trophy wife. You spent five years leaving your digital breadcrumbs all over your laptop, your cloud storage, and your corporate server. She didn't have to hack you. You left the front door wide open."
The room spun.
I remembered all those nights I stayed late at the office, telling her I was reviewing mergers while I was actually messaging Isabel. I remembered how Elena would quietly bring me a cup of tea, look at my open laptop screen with calm, steady eyes, and smile.
She hadn't been admiring my hard work.
She had been reading my confession.
"I want to talk to her," I said, my voice dropping into a desperate plea. "Put Elena on the phone."
"Mrs. Blackwood has nothing to say to you, Julian. But I do. Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, my office. Bring your personal legal counsel. You’re going to need a very good one."
The line went dead.
I stood alone in the dark office, surrounded by the remnants of a life I had foolishly believed I controlled. My phone buzzed again with a text alert—not from Elena, but from my corporate CFO.
May you like
Julian, where are you? The board has called an emergency meeting. All company accounts have been frozen by federal order.
The fortress was crumbling. And I was the one who had unlocked the gates.
