He Struck His Wife For Refusing To Serve His Mistress—Then Learned Who Owned The Entire Empire

Grant stood frozen in the middle of the dining room, his arm holding the phone limp at his side.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Vanessa’s champagne flute hovered motionless in midair. Judith pressed both hands to her cheeks, her eyes darting toward the foyer as if expecting federal marshals to burst through the doors.

"That's a lie," Grant whispered, his chest tightening as if wrapped in iron bands. "Chen is confused. He's incompetent."

"Grant, call your father's old attorney," Judith pleaded, her voice rising into an anxious shrill. "Your father told you he built this company with his own hands before he passed away!"

Grant hurriedly dialed Arthur Sterling, the prestigious attorney his family had relied upon for twenty-five years.

The phone rang only once before Arthur’s voice came over the line, crisp, detached, and chillingly formal.

"Mr. Mercer. I expected your call."

"Sterling! What is this nonsense Chen is spewing about Vale-St. Claire?" Grant demanded, trying to inject venom into his tone. "Call the bank right now and unlock my accounts!"

"I cannot do that, Mr. Mercer," Arthur replied smoothly. "My retainer with you was contingent upon your status as Chief Executive of Mercer Global. As of 7:15 PM, you have been relieved of all operational duties by the Chairman of the Board."

"Who is the Chairman?" Grant roared, sweat breaking out across his forehead. "I founded this brand!"

"You did not found this brand, Grant," Arthur said with cold finality. "Fifteen years ago, your father's mid-level logistics firm was three days away from bankruptcy. Eleanor Vale used twelve million dollars of her maternal trust fund to quietly absorb the debt."

Grant’s breath caught in his throat.

"What?"

"Out of consideration for your male pride, she allowed the company name to remain Mercer Global," Arthur explained, each word landing like a hammer blow. "She appointed you CEO, gave your brother a vice presidency, and financed your lavish lifestyle from behind an ironclad series of blind trusts."

Vanessa gasped, covering her mouth with her diamond-ringed fingers.

Dean dropped his whiskey glass, the crystal shattering across the hardwood floor.

"She owned it?" Dean whispered, his face slack with disbelief. "Eleanor owned everything?"

"Eleanor Vale owns the building you are standing in," Arthur continued over the phone. "She owns the trademark on your suits, the lease on your vehicles, and the patent on every supply-chain software your company markets."

Grant’s knees felt weak.

"No... no, she couldn't. She was just a socialite. She cooked, she planted roses on the terrace—"

"She indulged your vanity, Grant, because she loved you," Arthur cut in sharply. "Until tonight. You struck the daughter of the late Alexander Vale. In doing so, you activated the morality clause in Section 14 of your prenuptial agreement."

"What morality clause?" Grant choked out, his vision swimming.

"Any physical abuse or proven adultery forfeits your claim to all marital property, severance compensation, and spousal maintenance," Arthur stated with clinical precision. "You are broke, Grant. And you have approximately thirty minutes before private bailiffs arrive to repossess the penthouse."

The call went dead with a hollow tone.