Chapter 7 - The Stripping of the Titan
"Serena... please," Richard whispered, dropping his gaze to the marble floor, his voice cracking with a desperate, pathetic whimper. "We've been married for twelve years. We built this together. You can't destroy me in front of everyone I know."
Serena looked down at him, feeling no anger, no hatred, only a vast, liberating indifference.
"I didn't destroy you, Richard," she said softly. "You destroyed yourself the moment you mistook my patience for weakness. You took my family's money, my family's heritage, and my loyalty, and you treated them like dirt."
She reached into her small evening clutch and pulled out two objects.
The first was a signed divorce petition, filed forty minutes earlier in the New York Supreme Court, requesting full asset division, the reclamation of her family's commercial leases, and the eviction of Richard Sterling from their Fifth Avenue penthouse.
The second was a small silver key.
"This is the key to your luggage at the Pierre Hotel," Serena said, letting the key drop onto the marble table beside his spilled champagne. "I had your clothes packed and sent to the reception desk this afternoon. You are no longer welcome in my home."
Richard stared at the key, tears finally welling up in his dark eyes, splashing onto his silk lapels.
"Where am I supposed to go?" he choked out.
"Go wherever eight million dollars of synthetic glass will take you, Richard," Serena replied with an icy smile. "Because that is the only asset you have left."
Julian signaled to two uniformed private security officers.
"Escort Mr. Sterling off the premises," Julian instructed. "His credentials for the Crescent Moon Foundation have been terminated."
The officers stepped to either side of Richard, taking his arms with firm, professional grips.
As they led him toward the grand bronze doors, the crowd of billionaires, politicians, and socialites parted in absolute silence, refusing to meet his eyes.
The man who had walked in expecting to be crowned king of the tech world walked out as a penniless, disgraced pariah, his name erased from high society forever.
Serena turned to the orchestra balcony and gave a slight, elegant nod to the conductor.
The conductor raised his baton, and the sweeping waltz swelled back to life, filling the vaulted halls of the museum with breathtaking, triumphant music.
Beatrice Kensington rushed over, handing Serena a fresh flute of vintage champagne, her eyes shining with pure, unadulterated joy.
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"To the true Queen of New York," Beatrice toasted, clinking her glass against Serena’s.
"To freedom, Beatrice," Serena smiled, raising her glass as the entire ballroom turned toward her, raising their flutes in unanimous, thunderous applause.
