I picked up the pen. Julian smirked. Camille finally looked up, victorious. I clicked the pen twice, then set it down gently on top of the unsigned papers. “Before I sign, Julian, I want to thank you.” He blinked. “For what?” “For teaching me to read every contract twice.” I reached into my purse and pulled out a slim leather folio. Inside were the original incorporation documents for Vance Technologies — his precious startup. “Remember when your father refused to co-sign your Series A because he thought you were reckless? Remember who put up her grandmother’s Beacon Hill brownstone as collateral so the bank would take you seriously?” His smirk cracked. “That was a gift, Elena.” “That was a loan,” I said. “Documented. Notarized. With a forty-nine percent equity clause that triggers the moment we file for divorce. My lawyer confirmed it this morning.” The wine glass in his hand tilted. A red stain bloomed across the white tablecloth like something bleeding out. Camille stood up. I didn’t even turn my head. “Sit down, Camille. You’ll want to hear the rest.” I slid my phone across the table. On the screen was an email from Harrington Capital — his biggest investor. Subject line: Emergency Board Review — Effective Monday. “I forwarded them the hotel receipts. The company credit card charges. The Cabo trip you told the board was a ‘client retreat.’ They’ve called a vote to remove you as CEO. I’m the interim replacement. Unanimous, Julian. Even your father voted yes.” He tried to speak. Nothing came out. I stood, smoothed the navy dress he hated, and picked up the divorce papers. “I’ll sign these. Gladly. But you’re not walking away with the company, the brownstone, or the last shred of dignity you brought to this table.” I dropped a twenty on the wine stain. “Dinner’s on me. Consider it severance.” I walked past Camille without looking. Behind me, I heard Julian’s chair scrape back, then his voice — small now, almost a whisper. “Elena, wait.” I didn’t.
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