Chapter 5 - The Legal CheckmateThe fallout in the Grand Emerald Ballroom was swift and devastating. Security guards, sensing the escalating hostility and the presence of prominent corporate figures, discreetly moved in, not to escort us out, but to herd Damen and Nikki toward the service exit away from the cameras and alumni board members.
As Damen was led away, his face twisted in a pathetic mask of fury and humiliation, screaming empty threats about suing us into oblivion, I didn't feel anger. I felt a profound, exhilarating lightness. The heavy anchor I had dragged around for five years—the mortgage payments, the emotional labor, the constant excuses for a man who contributed nothing—was finally cut loose.
Jackson escorted me out to the Maybach, opening the door with the easy grace of a gentleman. As we slid into the leather seats and pulled away from the glittering facade of the hotel, I let out a long, shuddering breath.
"Well," Jackson said, a warm, genuine smile breaking across his face as he glanced sideways at me. "I believe that went according to plan."
"According to plan is an understatement," I laughed, leaning my head back against the headrest. "You completely dismantled him in under five minutes."
"Damen dismantled himself years ago, Carissa," Jackson replied softly, his hand resting lightly on the console near mine. "He just needed someone brave enough to hand him the matches."
Over the next two weeks, the legal execution of my divorce was carried out with terrifying efficiency. Because I had anticipated Damen’s typical deflection tactics, my legal team—backed by some of the sharpest corporate litigators in Jackson’s network—froze all joint accounts before Damen could liquidate our remaining assets.
Nikki tried to call me three times on the second day, sobbing hysterically, begging me not to cut off her rent payments. I didn't even pick up. I simply sent her a single text message containing the lease termination notice and a link to a local job board. If she wanted to survive in Hanoi without my paycheck, she was going to have to learn what a twelve-hour workday actually felt like.
Damen attempted to contest the divorce settlement, claiming spousal support and rights to the apartment. But when his fraudulent loan applications and mortgage forgery came to light during the pre-trial discovery phase, his own defense attorney dropped him within forty-eight hours. Faced with the very real prospect of federal prosecution for financial fraud and document forgery, Damen’s bravado completely evaporated. He signed the uncontested divorce papers in a dingy conference room on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, looking like a man who had aged ten years in a fortnight.
When he slid the signed document across the table toward me, his hands were shaking.
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"You ruined my life," he muttered, not daring to look me in the eye.
"No, Damen," I said, sliding the folder into my briefcase and standing up with crisp finality. "I just stopped financing it."
