Chapter 9 - The Ultimatum
I didn't flinch. I slowly set my glass down, wiped my mouth with a linen napkin, and looked Evelyn up and down.
"And how, exactly, do you plan to ruin me, Evelyn?" I asked, my voice carrying clearly to the adjacent tables where two prominent Raleigh socialites paused their conversations to glance over.
"Mom, please, keep your voice down," Michael begged, pulling at her sleeve.
"Shut up, Michael!" Evelyn snarled, shaking him off like a stray dog. She fixed her glare back on me. "I know about the corporate accounts, Rachel. I know your consulting firm uses proprietary client databases that belong to the Harrington Hospitality Group. I will call their board chairman this afternoon. I will tell them you’ve been running private side-contracts using their confidential auditing software!"
I stared at her for three full seconds, then burst out laughing.
It was a clear, genuine laugh that echoed across the quiet terrace. Several waitstaff turned to look.
"What is so funny?" Chloe snapped, her lower lip trembling. "You think our lives are a joke?"
"I think your mother’s ignorance is a joke," I replied, leaning back in my chair. "Evelyn, I haven't worked for the Harrington Group in four years. I purchased my auditing software under an independent commercial license registered solely to my own LLC. But please, call their chairman. His name is Richard Harrington. He happens to be my godfather, and he’s currently sitting in the club’s private dining room having lunch with the district attorney."
Evelyn’s mouth opened, then snapped shut like a landed bass. Her gaze flickered nervously toward the frosted glass doors of the interior dining room.
"You're bluffing," Chloe whimpered, though the terror in her eyes told a different story.
"Try me," I said softly.
I reached into my bag, pulled out an official legal envelope, and placed it on the table between Michael's plate and Evelyn’s trembling hands.
"What's this?" Michael asked, his voice shaking.
"That is a formal notice of lis pendens and an emergency summons for civil theft, fraud, and dissolution of marriage," I said. "You have been officially served, Michael."
Michael stared at the thick stack of papers as if it were a live grenade. "Divorce? Rachel... six years! We’ve been together for six years!"
"And for six years, you allowed your mother to treat me like a domestic servant while you funneled my money and my work into your sister’s vanity projects," I said. "You didn't want a wife, Michael. You wanted an unpaid executive chef and an unlimited line of credit."
Chloe suddenly sank into an empty chair, burying her face in her hands. "I'm ruined. I'm completely ruined. The Mayor's Gala is Saturday. The club manager said if the food isn't delivered by five o'clock, they’re calling the Raleigh Police financial crimes unit. I took twenty thousand dollars, Michael! I spent fifteen thousand of it on a lease for an Audi and designer clothes for the promotional photoshoot! I don't have the money to refund them!"
Michael looked at his sister, then at his mother, and finally back at me. The mask of the loving, supportive husband was completely stripped away, replaced by an ugly, cornered desperation.
"Rachel," Michael whispered, his tone suddenly turning dark, almost threatening. "If Chloe goes down, I go down. You know that. Tri-State will fire me the second an indictment comes down. If I lose my job, I can't pay the legal fees. I’ll contest the divorce. I’ll tie you up in court for five years. You won't be able to sell the house, you won't be able to touch your investments, and every dime you make will go to probate attorneys. Is that what you want?"
I looked at Michael Bennett, the man I had once believed was my partner, and felt a profound sense of liberation.
He had no cards left. He was bluffing with an empty hand.
"You really don't know who you married, do you, Michael?" I said quietly.
I picked up my bag, stood up, and looked down at the three of them.
May you like
"I'll see you in court on Thursday for the preliminary injunction hearing," I said. "And Chloe? If I were you, I’d start learning how to cook. Because in forty-eight hours, two hundred people are going to find out exactly what your brand is worth."
***
