Chapter 2 - The Cold Light of Reality
The master bedroom in our Westchester mansion had never felt as massive and suffocating as it did the morning after Laura left.
Benjamin Kendall woke up at five in the morning, groggy and disoriented, his arm instinctively reaching across the king-sized mattress to pull Laura against his chest. His fingers met cold, empty Egyptian cotton. The silk pillow beside him still carried the faint trace of her lavender skin cream, but she was gone. The entire house was silent—no sound of Miles practicing his violin downstairs, no high-pitched laughter from Sadie demanding blueberry pancakes shaped like teddy bears, no clatter of silverware from the kitchen.
Ben sat up, clutching his temples. His head throbbed with a vicious hangover, though he had only drunk two fingers of bourbon after she drove off. The sickness inside him was pure, unadulterated shock.
She’ll come back, he told himself as he dragged his body into the shower. Laura loves me. She’s angry, and she has every right to be petty, but she’s rational. She’s the most calculated, rational person on the planet. Once she cools down, we’ll talk. We’ll go to couple’s therapy.
He dressed in his usual charcoal suit, skipped breakfast because he had no idea where the coffee filters were stored without Laura’s labeled containers, and drove into Manhattan.
When he stepped out of the private elevator onto the executive floor of Northline Properties, the familiar buzz of activity hit him. But something was off. The atmosphere felt sharp, prickly.
Mia Lawson bounced up from her desk by the glass corner suite, clutching a stack of blue folders. She was wearing a floral chiffon blouse and a bright, radiant smile that had charmed him for the past six months. Today, however, that smile made his stomach twist into an uncomfortable knot.
“Good morning, Mr. Kendall!” Mia chirped, trailing behind him as he pushed open his office door. “I brought the revised pro-forma for the Harbor Point rezoning! Oh, and I brought you a salted caramel latte from that boutique cafe across the street. You look exhausted—did Sadie keep you up with another nightmare?”
Ben stopped at his desk, staring at the sugary cup of coffee. Laura always handed him black coffee with one drop of oat milk and a freshly peeled orange. He hadn't touched salted caramel since college.
“I don’t want the coffee, Mia,” Ben said curtly, his voice flat.
Mia’s smile faltered, her eyelashes fluttering in confusion. “Oh. Did I do something wrong? Is it the wrong roast? I can run down and get—”
“Just leave the files and shut the door,” he snapped.
Her lower lip trembled, her cheeks turning bright pink. It was the exact expression he had described at dinner last night—the endearing, helpless flutter of a young woman needing reassurance. But today, the magic was completely broken. All Ben saw was a twenty-four-year-old girl who didn’t know how to run a DCF model without supervision, standing in the office of a multi-million-dollar developer.
“I’m sorry,” Mia whispered, bowing her head dramatically before scurrying out and pulling the heavy glass door shut.
Ben sank into his ergonomic leather chair, feeling like he was suffocating. He pulled his smartphone from his breast pocket and dialed Laura’s personal number.
“The subscriber you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”
Straight to voicemail. He dialed again. Same recording.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted him. Ben looked up, hoping against hope that Laura had marched in to scold him.
Instead, the door swung open, and Marcus Vance, Northline’s senior general counsel, walked in holding a thick, manila envelope sealed with red legal tape. Marcus looked like he hadn't slept either, his brow furrowed with grim professional concern.
“Ben,” Marcus said quietly, closing the door behind him. “We have an immediate emergency.”
“Not now, Marcus. I’m dealing with family matters.”
“This is your family matter,” Marcus said grimly, tossing the envelope onto the center of Ben’s glass desk.
Ben stared at the crisp black typography across the front label: HAWTHORNE, STERLING & REID ATTORNEYS AT LAW. Underneath, in bold red ink, was written: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE AND ASSET DIVISION.
“Laura didn’t just hire a neighborhood divorce lawyer, Ben,” Marcus said, pulling a chair opposite him and speaking in a hushed whisper. “She retained Arthur Sterling. He’s the most ruthless corporate divorce litigator on the Eastern Seaboard. And that’s not the worst part.”
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Ben’s heart plummeted through the floorboards. “What do you mean, that’s not the worst part?”
“Laura isn’t just your wife,” Marcus reminded him, his eyes dead serious. “Through Kendall Ridge Capital, she holds the secondary lien on our debt facility for the three-hundred-million-dollar Hudson Yards acquisition. If she calls the covenant breach clause on personal misconduct, Northline faces immediate insolvency by Friday.”
