Chapter 8 - The Queen Takes the Board
At 2:00 PM, Christopher Albright walked into the Grand Horizon boardroom.
The man who had stood at the gala twelve hours earlier, preening in his tailored tuxedo and laughing with billionaires, was completely gone. In his place stood a broken, disheveled shell of a man. His eyes were bloodshot, his silver hair was greasy and uncombed, and his jacket was wrinkled from sleeping in a budget motel bed.
He didn't dare look Luke in the eye. He looked only at me, his shoulders hunched, his hands trembling as he gripped his worn leather briefcase.
"Vivian," he whispered, his voice trembling with shame. "Please. We were married for twenty-two years. You can't leave me with nothing. I don't even have enough cash to pay for a lawyer."
"You had sixty-eight million dollars, Christopher," I said, leaning back in my chair, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "You gave it to Brenda. Perhaps you should ask her for a loan."
"She was a mistake!" he choked out, stepping toward the table, tears welling in his eyes. "I was weak! I was flattered by her attention! She made me feel young, Vivian! You were always so strong, so competent... you never needed me! She made me feel like I mattered!"
"So you decided to drug me?" I asked, leaning forward, my eyes locking onto his with lethal precision. "You decided to let your mistress steal my late grandmother’s jewelry, wear my gown, and walk into a public gala while I was dying in my bedroom?"
Christopher flinched as if struck across the face. "I didn't know about the drugs! I swear on my life, Vivian! She told me you had a headache! I never wanted you harmed!"
"It doesn't matter what you wanted," Luke interrupted from the side of the table, sliding a silver Montblanc pen across the glass. "It matters what you did. Sign the papers, Dad."
Christopher looked down at the document.
WAIVER OF ALL MARITAL ASSETS. SURRENDER OF ALL VOTING SHARES. COMPLETE DISMISSAL OF ALL CLAIMS TO THE VANCE ESTATE.
His hand shook violently as he picked up the pen. With every stroke of the nib, he erased himself from the empire he had claimed to build. He signed away the Beverly Hills mansion. He signed away the private jets, the art collection, the executive pension, and the family name.
When he finished the final signature, he dropped the pen onto the glass. It rolled off the table and clicked against the floor.
"What am I supposed to do now?" Christopher asked, his voice barely audible, his eyes hollow. "I have no money. No home. No reputation. Nobody in this town will even take my phone calls."
"You have two hands, Christopher," I replied, gathering the signed documents and sliding them into my leather portfolio. "Go get a job. Just like you told Brenda to do before I brought her into our lives."
He stood frozen for a moment, waiting for a shred of pity, a tiny flicker of the gentle, accommodating wife he had exploited for over two decades.
May you like
He found none.
Without another word, Christopher Albright turned and walked out of the boardroom, his footsteps shuffling down the hallway, fading into complete obscurity.
