Chapter 5 - The Tables TurnBy midnight, the fallout had metastasized into a full-scale corporate catastrophe.
The stock of Vance Global Holdings plummeted forty-two percent within six hours of trading, triggering an emergency circuit-breaker halt on the New York Stock Exchange. Federal investigators, tipped off by our comprehensive forensic audit, raided Marcus Vance's office and seized his personal computers.
And Flynn? Flynn was locked out of his own corporate headquarters, his corporate cards declined at every luxury restaurant in Manhattan, and his name dragged through the mud across every major financial news network from Bloomberg to CNBC.
I sat comfortably in the executive suite of The Carlyle, sipping a glass of warm chamomile tea while soft jazz played on the stereo. Little Clara was sleeping peacefully in her crib, completely oblivious to the fact that her mother had just vaporized a billionaire dynasty before she was even a week old.
A sharp knock sounded at the door.
I set my teacup down, walked over, and unlocked the deadbolt.
Flynn stood in the hallway.
He looked like a man who had been dragged through a hurricane backwards. His bespoke suit was wrinkled, his tie was yanked loose around his collar, his hair was disheveled, and the arrogant, untouchable glow of the billionaire CEO was completely, permanently gone. His eyes were bloodshot and frantic.
"Mabel," he breathed, his voice cracking with desperation. He tried to push past me into the suite, but I didn't move an inch, planting my shoulder firmly against the doorframe.
"You can't come in here, Flynn," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion.
"Mabel, please—you have to listen to me!" he pleaded, raising his hands in a pathetic gesture of supplication. "It was a mistake! Selina meant nothing to me! She trapped me, she lied to me about the baby—Marcus confessed everything, she was just using my name! You and I... we built this empire together, Mabel. We can fix this. Just reverse the trust freeze, reinstate my CEO credentials, and we can go back to how things were!"
I tilted my head, studying him with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing a lab rat trapped in a maze.
"Go back to how things were?" I repeated softly. "You mean back to the days when you treated me like an obedient piece of furniture while you carried on affairs behind my back? Back to the moment when you stood in my delivery room while I was bleeding, and told me my newborn daughter was a non-entity?"
Flynn flinched, a violent shiver running down his spine. "I was stressed, Mabel! The board was pressuring me for an heir—"
"And so you chose another man's bastard to carry your name, while throwing your own flesh and blood into the trash," I interrupted, my eyes turning to ice. "You wanted an uncompromised male heir, Flynn. Well, congratulations. You spent a year and a half playing daddy to Marcus Vance's child, and now you get to keep him. Because Selina packed her bags and fled to New Jersey the second your credit cards were declined."
Flynn stared at me, his jaw dropping as the final pillar of his reality collapsed. "She... she left?"
"Of course she left," I scoffed. "Gold-diggers don't stick around when the gold mine runs dry, Flynn. She loved your bank account, not your brilliant personality."
He dropped his head into his hands, letting out a ragged, broken sob that echoed down the quiet hotel hallway. All the arrogance, all the cruel superiority, all the ruthless corporate swagger had evaporated, leaving behind a pathetic, hollow shell of a man.
"What... what am I supposed to do now?" he whispered, his voice cracking with defeat. "I’m broke. The board is suing me for fraud. The media is tearing me apart. I have nothing left."
I reached into my blazer pocket, pulling out a single, neatly folded document, and slid it across the small console table in the hallway.
"Here is your parting gift," I said quietly.
Flynn looked down at the paper with trembling fingers, picking it up.
"What is this?"
"It's the preliminary divorce settlement," I answered. "I’m letting you keep your personal clothes, your old college car, and a modest stipend of two thousand dollars a month—just enough to keep you off the streets and pay for your share of child support for Selina's son, since legally, your name is still on his birth certificate."
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Flynn’s eyes widened in horror. "Child support for another man's kid?!"
"Poetic, isn't it?" I smiled, a cold, bitter satisfaction washing over me. "Sign on the dotted line, Flynn. It’s the best deal you’re ever going to get."
