Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Ambush
Three days after my public departure from the estate, the corporate headquarters of Prescott Global was practically vibrating with nervous energy. Word of the Slack message had long since leaked past internal firewalls into the financial news cycle, sparking hysterical morning-show segments and frantic calls from major institutional investors wondering if the company’s golden-boy COO was about to face a messy, highly public scandal.
Aaron had attempted every desperate tactic in the book to reach me. He had sent intermediaries, flooded my personal email with alternating messages of furious rage and pathetic pleading, and even staked out my parents' driveway in his midnight-blue Porsche, only to be promptly escorted off the property by local police officers called by my father.
On Thursday morning, however, Aaron decided to take matters into his own hands at the corporate level.
I received a formal summons via email—not from Aaron personally, but from Prescott Global’s chief legal counsel, demanding my immediate presence in the executive boardroom under the pretext of discussing "confidential shareholder compliance matters" tied to my marital status. It was a transparent power play orchestrated by Aaron and his mother, Eleanor, who sat on the board of directors and believed she could intimidate me into signing a gag order and a humiliating non-disclosure agreement.
I arrived at headquarters precisely at 10:00 a.m. I wore a tailored, charcoal-grey Chanel pantsuit that projected absolute, razor-sharp authority, paired with diamond stud earrings that had belonged to my grandmother.
When I pushed open the frosted glass doors of the executive boardroom, the scene waiting inside looked like a staging ground for a corporate execution. Aaron sat at the head of the long oak table, looking haggard, his usually immaculate hair slightly disheveled, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes. Seated directly to his right was Jasmine Cole, wearing an aggressively bright red dress that looked entirely out of place in a formal legal proceeding, flashing a smug, triumphant grin as if she had already won the war. At the other end of the table sat Aaron’s mother, Eleanor, alongside two corporate attorneys holding thick leather portfolios.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Eleanor sneered, folding her thin arms across her chest. “We were beginning to think you had crawled back under whatever rock Aaron found you under, Claire.”
I didn't blink. I didn't offer an apologetic smile or cower under their coordinated hostility. I simply pulled out the empty chair directly opposite Aaron, seated myself with deliberate slowness, and placed a single leather folder on the wood in front of me.
“Save the dramatics, Eleanor,” I said, my voice cutting through the thick tension of the room like a scalpel. “You didn't call me here to discuss compliance. You called me here because Aaron is panicking, and your stock price dropped three points on Tuesday morning.”
Aaron flinched, slamming his palm onto the table. “Are you out of your mind, Claire?! Do you have any idea what your petty, pathetic little stunt on Slack did to my career?! You humiliated me in front of the entire company! You made me a laughingstock!”
“No, Aaron,” I replied calmly, leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs. “You made yourself a laughingstock the moment you decided to conduct your extramarital affairs on company time, using corporate suites, and charging romantic dinners to your executive expense account—expenses, by the way, that my forensic accountant has already cataloged and flagged for federal tax auditors.”
Jasmine’s smug grin instantly vanished, her face draining of color. “You’re lying! You don't have anything!”
“Quiet, Jasmine,” Aaron hissed, his eyes darting wildly between me and his corporate defense attorneys. He turned back to me, his voice cracking slightly as desperation finally pierced through his arrogant facade. “Claire… please. Let’s be reasonable. We can settle this quietly. Drop the divorce petition, retract your public statements, issue a company-wide memo claiming your account was hacked, and we can go back to normal. I’ll even let you keep the house in Marblehead.”
I let out a cold, humorless laugh that echoed off the mahogany walls. “Go back to normal? Aaron, you still don't seem to grasp your current position. There is no going back. There is only moving forward into absolute financial ruin if you don't sign the settlement papers Nathan sent over on Monday.”
Eleanor stood up, her face mottled with furious rage, pointing a trembling finger in my face. “You arrogant little gold-digger! You think you can waltz in here and threaten the Prescott family legacy?! We built this company! We made you somebody! Without our name, you are absolute nothing!”
“Is that right?” I asked softly.
May you like
I opened the leather folder in front of me, slid three crisp, notarized documents across the table, and stopped them right underneath Eleanor’s trembling fingers.
“Before you lecture me about the Prescott family legacy, Eleanor, perhaps you should take a close look at who actually holds the primary collateral backing your corporate expansion loans across the entire Northeast sector.”
