Chapter 9 - The SigningDamon leaned against the boardroom wall, his breathing ragged, staring at Marcus Vance as if he were looking at the Grim Reaper himself.
"What papers?" Damon choked out, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
Marcus laid the divorce and asset division agreement on the glass table right next to Claire's abandoned diamond ring.
"Full, absolute surrender of all legal and physical custody rights to your unborn daughter," Marcus listed flatly. "Immediate transfer of the deed to the marital home into Emily's sole name. Full indemnification of all debts accrued by your firm, and a seventy percent liquid division of your remaining personal accounts."
Damon let out a hysterical, hollow laugh. "Seventy percent?! Are you insane?! That leaves me with nothing! My firm will go bankrupt!"
"Your firm is already bankrupt, Damon," I said, stepping up to the glass table. "Because thirty minutes ago, Marcus executed the escrow transfer. The six hundred thousand dollars sitting in the Nevis holding account has been fully returned to Owen's trust account."
Damon's jaw dropped. He looked at Marcus, then looked at me in total, speechbound shock. "You... you drained the Nevis account?"
"It wasn't your money, Damon," I said softly. "It was Owen's. And as the fifty percent administrative owner of Nevis Holdings—thanks to the signature you forged—I authorized the full return of stolen capital."
Owen looked up from the table, staring at me with deep, tearful gratitude. "Emily... you saved my inheritance."
"We take care of our own, Owen," I said gently.
I picked up a black Montblanc pen, uncapped it, and set it on top of the divorce papers, sliding them across the glass table toward Damon.
"Sign the papers, Damon," I commanded softly. "Sign them right now, or Marcus calls the Assistant District Attorney standing by on line two to file federal forgery and wire fraud charges. You'll be serving five to seven years in a state facility."
Damon looked at the pen. He looked at the divorce decree. Then he looked at the two security guards standing near the exit.
He realized he had no moves left. No charm, no lies, no shell companies, and no secret lovers hiding in my closet. His entire fortress of cards had collapsed into dust.
With trembling, frantic hands, Damon picked up the pen.
He signed his name on the first page. Then the second. Page after page, his signature growing messier and more desperate with every line.
When he finished the final page, he dropped the pen onto the table like it had burned his skin.
"There," Damon whimpered, looking up at me with hollow, broken eyes. "I signed it. It's done. Are you happy now, Emily?"
I stepped forward, picked up the signed document, and handed it to Marcus, who carefully verified every signature.
I looked down at the man I had married—the man who had left me alone at an ultrasound clinic to sleep with my best friend in my bed.
"I'm not happy, Damon," I said, resting my hand gently over my pregnant belly, feeling my daughter give a strong, solid kick. "I'm free."
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"Get out of my building, Damon," Owen said, his voice cold and devoid of all emotion. "Before I change my mind about calling the police myself."
Damon grabbed his empty briefcase, turned on his heel, and practically ran out of the boardroom, his frantic footsteps echoing down the marble hallway until they vanished completely.
