Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Confrontation
By noon, the drama had escalated beyond the confines of family text threads.
I was sitting in the conference room of my attorney, David Ross, reviewing our asset separation filings. David was an old colleague from my banking days—sharp, meticulous, and entirely unimpressed by bluster.
"Under New York law," David explained, tapping his pen against the legal pad, "your pre-marital investments and the intellectual property of your financial firm remain entirely separate property. Furthermore, these payments you made to his mother and sister aren't considered standard marital gifts if they were drawn from your business accounts as loans or third-party advances."
"Jessica signed promissory notes for the tuition," I reminded him. "She thought she was signing internal accounting forms so my tax preparer wouldn't flag them."
"Which makes them legally binding debts owed to Reed Advisory LLC," David said with a wolfish smile. "If Michael pushes for an equitable distribution of your liquid assets, we countersue his entire family for civil fraud and breach of contract."
Before David could continue, his assistant knocked softly and opened the door. "Mr. Ross, there's a gentleman downstairs in the lobby demanding to see Mrs. Reed. He says he's her husband."
David raised an eyebrow at me. "Do you want security to escort him off the premises?"
I thought about it for two seconds. "No. Send him up. Let's finish the conversation he started at dinner."
When Michael entered the conference room three minutes later, he didn't look like the smug, dismissive man who had shrugged off our marriage forty-eight hours ago. His tie was loose, his jacket wrinkled, and his hair messy. The arrogant posture that made him look so formidable in corporate pitch meetings had completely disintegrated.
He stopped at the edge of the glass table, his eyes darting between David and me. When his gaze dropped to my midsection, his jaw twitched.
"Allison," Michael began, his voice hoarse. "Can we please speak in private?"
"Mr. Ross is my counsel, Michael," I answered calmly, leaning back in my chair. "You instructed me to have my lawyer contact yours. Consider this a courtesy meeting."
Michael pulled out a chair and slumped into it, burying his face in his hands before looking up with bloodshot eyes. "I spoke to my mother this morning. Then I spent two hours at Jessica's apartment going through her bank statements."
"And?"
May you like
"She lied to me," Michael whispered, sounding sick to his stomach. "For five years, she told me our dad had left a small trust fund that was quietly covering Tony’s school and Mom’s maintenance. She told me you were just hoarding your consulting income while I paid our Manhattan rent and dinners. She told me... she told me you resented my family so much that you wouldn't even buy groceries."
"And you believed her," I said, letting the words cut deep. "You lived in that apartment with me for seven years, Michael. You saw the work I did. You saw the hours I put in. Yet the moment your sister called me a freeloader, you didn't even blink. You suggested divorce like you were returning a pair of shoes that didn't fit."
