I picked up the folder, slid it open, and clicked my pen. Marcus smirked at Vanessa like he’d already won. “Smart girl. Sign on the tabs.”
“Before I sign,” I said softly, “congratulations on the Hartwell acquisition. Forty-two million, right? That’s what you told the investors yesterday.”
His smile flickered. “How did you—”
“Because I was on the call, Marcus. Muted. Listening.” I pulled my phone from my apron pocket and turned the screen toward him. “This is the cap table for Bellweather Holdings — the parent company that owns your startup. You always told me not to worry my ‘pretty little head’ about the boring paperwork Dad’s lawyers sent. So I stopped asking. I just signed.”
Vanessa leaned in, frowning. “What is she talking about?”
“Sixty-two percent,” I said. “I own sixty-two percent of the company you’re trying to sell. The board meeting to approve the Hartwell deal is Monday. Guess who the majority shareholder is?”
The color drained from his face. “Eleanor — sweetheart — let’s talk—”
“I already talked. To Hartwell’s CEO. This morning. Over coffee.” I slid a second folder toward him — thicker, crisper, embossed with my father’s old law firm’s seal. “He was very understanding when I explained the CEO had been funneling company funds into a Tribeca apartment lease under his girlfriend’s name. The deal’s still on. Just not with you running the company.”
Marcus’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.
“As for the divorce,” I said, clicking my pen shut, “I’ll be keeping the house — it’s in my name. The cars — my name. The bakery you called embarrassing? It just got a four-million-dollar buyout offer last week. Also mine.”
I untied my apron and laid it gently over the folder.
“Vanessa, the dress looks better on you. Keep it. Consider it severance.”
Then I picked up the lasagna, walked to the door, and for the first time in eleven years, I didn’t look back.
