Chapter 5 - The Ultimatum
By 8:00 AM the next morning, the front-page headline of the Chicago Tribune’s business section was burning up every smartphone in the financial district:
VANCE SHIPPING EMPIRE COLLAPSES UNDER FEDERAL FRAUD PROBE; ASSETS FROZEN AMID HIGH-SOCIETY SCANDAL.
I sat at my kitchen island in the West Loop loft, wearing a soft cashmere robe, scrolling through the online articles while sipping a fresh cup of dark roast coffee. The accompanying photos showed federal agents wheeling boxes of shredded documents out of the Gold Coast mansion while Eleanor shielded her face with an expensive Birkin bag.
A sharp, urgent buzzing sound vibrated against the marble counter.
It was my burner phone.
I picked it up and pressed accept, keeping my voice completely neutral. "Speak."
"Vivienne!" Dominic’s voice cracked over the line, sounding frantic, breathless, and utterly unhinged. "Where are you? Please, Viv, you have to call off your lawyers! They’re seizing everything! They’ve frozen my personal cards, the house is surrounded by reporters, and Mom is having heart palpitations!"
"Is she?" I asked mildly, taking a slow sip of coffee. "Tell her to save some palpitations for the arraignment hearing next Tuesday."
"Vivienne, stop this!" Dominic pleaded, his voice shifting from panic to anger. "We’re married! You’re my wife! Whatever you’re mad about—the necklace, the party—I’m sorry! I’ll apologize publicly! Just drop the federal complaint!"
"We were married, Dominic," I corrected him, my tone hardening into steel. "Past tense. Did you really think that forging my signature to bail out your failing shipping company would go unnoticed? Or did you honestly believe that because I stayed quiet while your mother and sister humiliated me, I didn't know how to destroy you?"
Silence hung heavily over the line for three agonizing seconds.
"You... you planned this," Dominic whispered, the realization finally breaking through his arrogant fog. "You knew about the mortgage lien all along."
"I knew about it the day you signed it behind my back," I replied smoothly. "I was just waiting for the right moment to cash the receipt. By the way, check your email. My divorce attorney sent over the draft settlement agreement an hour ago. You'll be signing away all claims to my grandfather's estate, relinquishing any custody rights to our child when they arrive—since a convicted felon makes a terrible father—and leaving this marriage with exactly the clothes on your back."
"You can't do that!" Dominic screamed. "I’ll fight you in court! I’ll hire the best lawyers in the country!"
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"With what money, Dominic?" I asked softly. "Your accounts are frozen, your inventory is impounded, and your family name is currently being dragged through every media outlet from here to New York. Sign the papers by 5:00 PM, or I'll hand the federal prosecutor the second folder—the one detailing your offshore tax shelters in the Cayman Islands."
I hung up without waiting for his answer.
