“I used to work here, Max,” Sarah, one of the top lawyers on my team, replies. “This is the biggest conference room in the building, and we have a lot of people attending this meeting. Since it sounds like we’re staying here, why don’t you fetch everyone some coffee?”
Max scowls then snaps an order at the receptionist.
Outside, there are hushed whispers as the rest of the Clarke & Turner legal team tries to get it together.
I take a seat at the head of the conference table, lean back in my chair, and stew. Outside, a storm rages, matching my mood.
Mandy thinks I’m violent and crazy, and yes, that is true, but I didn’t make my billions in investing by being hot-tempered.
I’m furious. If Mandy had just told me from the get-go, I could have solved this problem—quietly, discreetly, and mostly nonviolently.
Why didn’t she tell me?
Because she hates me, doesn’t trust me, never trusted me… and that’s my fault, isn’t it?
Over the weekend, as I put the pieces of my plan in motion, I brooded over it. As much as it pains me, I amsmart enough to recognize the part I’ve played in the way she reacted to me, in the way she hid things from me.
And I thought we were going to get married. Joke’s on me.
It’s ironic, right? I finally find the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, but all my coping skills, everything that made me successful, everything that helped me overcome a terrible childhood, everything that makes meme, is what drives her away and ruins my one shot at happiness.
It is a bitter pill to swallow. Therefore, I am going to make sure Jaxon pays for all the misery he caused me, for all the hurt he caused Mandy.
It’s a hollow victory, sure, but it is a victory. Jaxon doesn’t know it, but he’s already lost.
The Clarke & Turner lawyers enter into the room and take the less-choice seats that haven’t been claimed by my legal team.
I don’t acknowledge them, just stare out into the rainy city.
It’s Monday morning. That means Mandy’s out of jail. She must be pissed. Should I contact her, go to her? Would she even want to hear from me?
I don’t get to my feet when the Pendleton family comes in. My lawyer goes around the room, handing out bound packets for everyone. Then, my legal team waits for me to begin.
And waits.
Finally, one of Jaxon’s cousins complains, “Can you, like, tell us why you’re wasting our time?”
“Me? I’m wastingyourtime?” I turn to her.
She recoils. She’s one of those typical spoiled trust-fund girls who believes shopping at high-end department storesis work and doesn’t uncork her own wine. “Yeah, I have my art class.”
“Your art class. She has an art class.” I lean back in my chair and steeple my hands. “I hope this art class is teaching you how to draw furry porn, because you’re going to need a skill set to fund your lifestyle once I cut the head off your trust fund.”
“What?” she screeches. “Dad, he can’t do this.”
Her relatives are murmuring in concern.
“Not a single person in this family has had a real job since Great-Grandpappy Pendleton lovingly and carefully set up a family trust that churns out a generous monthly check for you all,” I remind them.
Several of the Pendletons now flip through the packets placed before them.
“You probably can’t decipher most of the backup documentation, considering the majority of you cheated, lied, and bribed your way to college,” I tell them. “But I think you can understand the first page in your packets. It even has pictures and a chart.”
I open my own booklet and tap one of the charts. “See this? This is the trust fund that makes your lifestyle possible. You see these three pie slices? These are the companies the trust invests in that make up the majority of the fund, one of which is the company originally founded by your family.”
I turn to the next page and slowly display it around the room. “This here? This is the purchase confirmation of the stock that proclaims, as of nine o’clock this morning, I am the majority shareholder of all three of these companies.”
There’s apprehension on all the family members’ faces.
