Sign the divorce papers, Eleanor, or I’ll make sure the world sees what a

I set the mug down slowly and opened the folder. Marcus leaned back, arms crossed, already celebrating. Brittany giggled and whispered something about picking out new curtains. I flipped past the divorce petition to the financial disclosures and smiled for the first time in months. “Marcus,” I said softly, “before I sign, there’s something you should know about the company.” He rolled his eyes. “Eleanor, you don’t own anything. Everything is in my name.” I nodded. “That’s true. Everything you knew about is in your name.” I pulled a second folder from the drawer beneath the island — the one I’d been preparing for eight months, ever since I found Brittany’s earring in our car. Inside were incorporation documents for Vesper Holdings, the parent company that, two years ago, had quietly acquired the patents Marcus thought he still owned. The patents his entire startup depended on. “Remember when you told me to handle the boring paperwork while you focused on the vision?” I asked. His face drained of color. “You signed the IP transfer yourself, Marcus. You didn’t read it. You never read anything I put in front of you.” Brittany’s smile faltered. “What does that mean?” I turned to her kindly. “It means the company he promised you a corner office in belongs to me. As of nine this morning, the board voted him out. Security is escorting his things to the curb as we speak.” Marcus lunged for the folder. I slid it away. “And the house? My grandmother’s trust bought it back from you last spring when you needed emergency capital. You were too busy buying her” — I nodded at Brittany — “a convertible to notice.” I picked up the divorce papers, clicked my pen, and signed. “You wanted a signature, Marcus. Here it is. Now get your cheap girlfriend and your ego off my property before the locksmith arrives at noon.” He stood frozen as the doorbell rang. Right on time.