Chapter 6 - The Fall of the Favorite
Dominic snatched the paper, his hands trembling violently as his eyes scanned the stark black text. The legalese was absolute, ironclad, and devastating. By filing before midnight, I had activated the clause that called in the third-party debt guarantees. Without Mercer family collateral, Vale Holdings’ credit rating dropped to junk status before the markets even opened on Monday morning.
"No... no, no, no," Dominic breathed, his face ghostly pale. "This liquidates the downtown project. The lenders will foreclose on the towers!"
"Within seventy-two hours, I imagine," Richard noted casually, sipping his drink. "Unless, of course, Miss Quinn’s public relations department can convince the Federal Reserve to issue you a personal bailout."
Laughter rippled through the gathering crowd. The humiliation was absolute.
Vanessa’s fingers slid completely off Dominic’s tuxedo sleeve. She stepped back, her eyes wide with terror as she realized the golden empire she had maneuvered herself into was actually an avalanche.
"Dominic," Vanessa stammered, backing away into the crowd. "You said you owned fifty-one percent outright. You said you were liquid!"
"Shut up, Vanessa!" Dominic snarled, losing his composure completely. The polished, charismatic executive vanished, replaced by a desperate, trapped animal. He lunged toward me, grabbing for my wrist. "Evelyn, you can't do this! Eight years! We were partners! I made a mistake, okay? Vanessa means nothing to me! She was just a distraction—"
Before his fingers could even brush my sleeve, Richard’s head of security, an enormous man named Vance who moved with terrifying swiftness, intercepted Dominic. He clamped Dominic’s forearm in a vice grip and twisted it downward, forcing Dominic to his knees on the polished ballroom floor.
"Hands off Mrs. Vale," the guard commanded in a low, gravelly snap.
A collective gasp echoed across the grand hall. A billionaire developer, pinned to his knees in the middle of Chicago’s most prestigious event, begging the wife he had tried to discard hours before.
"Get off me!" Dominic shouted, struggling in vain. "Evelyn! Tell him to let me go!"
I looked down at him. For eight years, I had loved this man. I had cooked him dinner when he worked late, listened to his endless speeches, healed his bruised ego when deals went sour, and excused his coldness as the price of ambition. Looking at him now, sprawled on the parquet floor like a disgraced beggar, I felt neither rage nor pity.
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I felt completely, wonderfully free.
"Dominic," I said, my voice echoing clearly over the hushed crowd. "This life requires a certain kind of woman. And tonight, I’m finally living it without you."
