Chapter 4 - The Audit of the CenturyBy the following morning, the financial news networks were in a feeding frenzy.
The Wall Street Journal ran a front-page financial exposé detailing the sudden, dramatic boardroom coup at Cross Meridian Group, revealing that the true mastermind behind the tech giant’s multi-billion-dollar valuation had never been Trevor Cross, but his quiet, reclusive former wife, Audrey Vance. Cable news anchors scrambled to figure out who the mysterious female billionaire was, while paparazzi staked out the lobby of the Cross Meridian Tower hoping to catch a glimpse of the fallen golden boy.
Inside the executive suite—my executive suite now—the atmosphere was crisp, focused, and entirely professional.
I sat behind the massive mahogany desk that Trevor had occupied for years. The family photographs of him posing with tech magazines had been cleared out, replaced instead by a small, framed watercolor painting of Lake Harriet and a photograph of Henry and Miles sleeping peacefully in their nursery.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Arthur Sterling walked in, holding a thick folder stamped with red confidential markers.
"Morning, Audrey," Arthur said respectfully, taking a seat across from my desk. "The transition of executive authority is moving faster than anticipated. Most of the regional directors have already pledged their loyalty to the new operational charter. They care about stability and growth, not Trevor’s personal brand."
"And Trevor?" I asked, not looking up from the quarterly logistics reports.
Arthur let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "He’s been stripped of his corporate credit cards, his company vehicle, and his office access. His personal accounts are currently frozen pending a forensic audit of corporate expense reporting from the last three years."
"Find anything interesting?"
"Oh, absolutely," Arthur smiled thinly. "It turns out our former CEO had a very expensive habit of funding his personal lifestyle—including luxury sports cars, high-end jewelry for Ms. Mercer, and private jet rentals—using corporate shell accounts disguised as R&D expenditures. Our legal team is preparing a referral for federal white-collar fraud as we speak."
I closed the logistics report and folded my hands on the desk. "Let him keep a modest allowance for basic living expenses, Arthur. I don't want him in prison; I just want him powerless. I want him to understand what it feels like to live day-to-day wondering where the next dollar is coming from—the exact reality he tried to force onto me and my newborns in the freezing snow nine months ago."
"Understood. It will be handled discreetly."
As Arthur stood up to leave, my phone buzzed on the corner of the desk.
It was an unsaved local number. I let it ring twice, watching the caller ID flash against the dark glass, before swiping the screen and putting it on speaker.
"Audrey?"
The voice was ragged, exhausted, and barely recognizable. It was Trevor.
"I'm busy, Trevor," I said calmly, leaning back in my leather chair.
"Please... Audrey, you have to help me," he choked out, a pathetic sob breaking through his words. "They locked me out of my apartment. The landlord evicted me this morning because the rent check bounced. My cards are declined everywhere, Sienna won't even answer my texts, and the board is threatening criminal charges over the expense reports. I have nothing left."
I listened to his desperation, feeling neither anger nor pity—only a profound, unshakeable emptiness where my love for him used to live.
"When you stood outside the courthouse nine months ago, Trevor, and laughed while your new girlfriend insulted me, did you think about what I had left?" I asked softly.
Silence stretched across the line. Heavy, suffocating, and absolute.
"You thought you were discarding a weak, helpless designer who would crawl away and die in the shadows," I continued, my voice steady as stone. "You wanted me broken, homeless, and begging. Well, congratulations, Trevor. You taught me the most valuable lesson of my life: never build an empire for a man who doesn't value the foundation."
"Audrey—please! We were married! We built this together!"
"We built this together," I agreed. "And now I'm running it alone. Lose my number, Trevor."
I hung up the call.
May you like
Without hesitation, I blocked the number, tossed the phone onto the desk, and turned my chair toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the sprawling Minneapolis skyline.
The sun was breaking through the clouds, casting a brilliant, golden light across the city streets.
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