Chapter 3 - The Mistress’s Arrival
By noon, the news had sent shockwaves through the syndicate. Without the warehouses, Ronan’s shipping networks were paralyzed. Without the liquidity from the Vance trust, his accounts were frozen by federal banking compliance flags triggered by our automated corporate restructuring.
I was sitting in my private office—formerly a dusty storage room that I had converted into a high-tech command center years ago—when the door flew open without a knock.
Odette Mercer stood in the doorway. She wasn't wearing cream today; instead, she wore a frantic, expensive designer dress that looked rumpled and ill-fitting. Her blond hair was slightly messy, and her youthful arrogance had been replaced by naked panic.
"You're Celeste," she said, her voice shaking as she stepped into the room.
"I am," I replied without looking up from my tablet. "And you are standing on private Vance property without an appointment. Turn around and use the elevators before I have security escort you out."
Odette slammed her hands down on my desk, her face flushing red. "Ronan is losing his mind! He came home screaming that our baby’s inheritance is gone! He said you stole the company out from under him! You can't just ruin everything he built just because he didn't love you anymore!"
I slowly lowered my tablet, leaned back in my chair, and looked at the girl half my age who thought she had won a prize by capturing a aging mobster.
"Listen to me very carefully, Odette," I said softly, every word carrying a lethal precision. "Ronan didn't build this. My father laid the financial foundation for Valeri Holdings before Ronan even learned how to launder money properly. I spent ten years keeping his hands clean, managing his books, and saving him from federal indictments while he was out playing kingpin. You think he loves you? He loves what you represent—a trophy, an heir, a reflection of his own ego. The second the money dried up and the warehouses locked their doors, let's see how long he keeps that smile on his face."
Tears welled in Odette’s eyes. "He... he told me we were safe. He told me your family was irrelevant."
"My family is the only reason he isn't sleeping in a federal penitentiary right now," I said, standing up to my full height. "Now get out of my office before I call the marshals and have you charged with trespassing on private commercial estate."
She bolted out the door, sobbing audibly down the hallway.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was Ronan.
May you like
"Celeste," he whispered, his voice completely stripped of its usual arrogance. "Meet me at the penthouse. Just the two of us. We need to talk."
"I don't negotiate with squatters, Ronan," I replied. "Meet me at my attorney’s office in one hour if you want to discuss your divorce settlement."
