Chapter 4 - The Cell and the ContractThe interrogation room at the Manhattan Federal Detention Center was cold, smelling of stale coffee, industrial floor cleaner, and damp concrete.
Ryan sat on the metal chair behind the table, handcuffed, wearing an oversized orange jumpsuit. In less than a week, the polished, suave CEO had completely disintegrated. His dark hair was messy, dark purple bags hung beneath his sunken eyes, and his hands trembled uncontrollably against the metal surface.
The heavy iron door clicked open, and I stepped inside, accompanied by two armed federal guards who took positions near the door.
Ryan looked up sharply. When he saw me, a pathetic, desperate spark of hope ignited in his eyes.
“Emily!” he cried out, leaning forward as far as his handcuffs would allow. “Emily, thank God! Please tell me you’re here to post my bail! The lawyers said the judge set bail at fifty million dollars—only your father can pay that! Please, Emily, I’m dying in here!”
I sat down calmly on the metal chair opposite him, crossing my legs. I placed a single sheet of paper on the table between us.
“I’m not here to post your bail, Ryan,” I said softly.
His face fell, the hope instantly evaporating into dark panic. “Then why are you here? What is that paper?”
“It’s a complete, unconditional surrender of all personal claims, intellectual property, and residual rights to anything bearing the name Sterling,” I explained, pushing a pen toward him. “Sign it, and my father’s legal team will instruct the state prosecutor to drop the physical assault charges against you.”
Ryan blinked, stunned. “Drop the assault charges? What about the tax fraud? What about the asset seizure?!”
“Those are federal charges brought by the United States government,” I smiled thinly. “My father doesn't control the federal government, Ryan. He just provides them with information. You’ll still serve fifteen to twenty years in a federal penitentiary for financial crimes.”
Ryan let out a strangled, breathless sob, banging his handcuffed fists against the table. “You ruined me! You destroyed my entire life over a stupid mistake! I was your husband!”
“You were a parasite,” I corrected, my voice dropping into an ice-cold whisper. “You beat me on the floor of my own house while your mistress watched. You tried to throw me out like trash after using my family’s money to build your pathetic little kingdom.”
Ryan stared at me, his body shaking with unadulterated fury. “And what about Madison? What about my child?! She told me your father’s men evicted her from her apartment! She has nowhere to go!”
A cold, bitter smile touched my lips. “Ah, yes. Madison.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.
“My father’s medical team ran a complete review of Madison’s hospital records yesterday morning, Ryan. Did she tell you?”
Ryan frowned, confused. “Tell me what?”
“Madison isn't pregnant,” I said cleanly.
The silence in the interrogation room was absolute.
Ryan’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “W-what? No… no, she showed me the ultrasound! She had the test results!”
“She bought a fake ultrasound online to force you into divorcing me,” I revealed, watching the final piece of his shattered reality crumble into dust before my eyes. “She knew Sterling Enterprises was failing, and she wanted a multi-million-dollar divorce settlement before the ship sank. She played you, Ryan. Just like you tried to play me.”
Ryan slumped back against his chair as if he had been physically shot through the chest. The color drained completely from his skin, leaving him looking like a corpse in an orange jumpsuit.
“She… she lied to me?” he whispered to himself, utterly broken.
“Sign the paper, Ryan,” I instructed, pushing the pen closer to his hand. “Or I let the state prosecutor add felony aggravated assault to your indictment, ensuring you spend the rest of your natural life in a maximum-security state prison.”
With shaking, trembling fingers, Ryan picked up the pen and scribbled his name at the bottom of the document.
I picked up the paper, checked the signature, and stood up.
“Goodbye, Ryan,” I said, turning toward the heavy iron door. “Have a nice life.”
As the guards unlocked the door, Ryan called out my name one last time, his voice broken, pathetic, and echoing off the cold concrete walls.
“Emily! Please… tell me one thing! Did you ever love me?!”
May you like
I stopped at the doorway, looking back over my shoulder at the ruined man in the orange suit.
“I loved the man I thought you were,” I answered quietly. “Too bad he never existed.”
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