My Husband Told Me I Looked Like Catering at His Promotion Gala — Then I Stepped Onto the Stage as the New Owner of His Company
The Grand Hyatt ballroom was still buzzing, but Marcus Delaney wasn’t in the mood for champagne. He stormed past the valet, got into his Porsche, and sped through the deserted streets, the city lights blurring around him. He drove straight to Apex Maritime headquarters, the glass towers mirroring his rage.
He punched in his security code. The lobby was silent, the security guard’s desk empty. Marcus didn’t care. He marched directly to his corner office on the 32nd floor.
He dropped into his leather chair, the glow of his multiple monitors reflecting in his narrowed eyes. He opened a secure financial terminal. His fingers flew across the keyboard. He was attempting an emergency wire transfer of $450,000 from Apex Maritime’s company reserves.
This was his backup. A personal fund for “operational contingencies,” as he called it, but really it was a private slush fund he could dip into anytime. He had an unauthorized power of attorney from a client who trusted him too much, which he’d used to set this up years ago.
The screen flashed green for a second, then red. *ACCESS DENIED.*
A notification popped up, almost mockingly. “Transaction blocked by Executive Override. Contact Administrator for details.”
A chill went down Marcus’s spine. *Executive Override.* That was my access code. The one I’d set up just this afternoon.
My phone, which I’d left on silent on my desk, buzzed with an incoming call. It was Marcus.
“Evelyn,” he hissed, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. “What the hell did you do?”
“I’m exercising my rights as the majority shareholder, Marcus,” I said, my voice calm, flat. “Company funds are not your personal ATM.”
“You think this changes anything?” he spat. “I’ll tie you up in court for years. I’ll bury you in legal fees. My counsel will dissect your pathetic bankruptcy discharge like a lab specimen.”
I heard the sneer in his voice, the familiar venom he reserved for moments he felt cornered.
“Your credit score, Evelyn? Non-existent. Your reputation? Already in tatters. I’ll make sure you can’t even get a loan for a used car.”
He paused, letting the threat hang in the air. “By the end of this week, you won’t have a single penny left to call your own. Believe me.”
He hung up with a click that echoed in the quiet room. I stared at the phone, the screen now dark. He believed he could still ruin me. He didn’t know I’d been ruined before, and I’d rebuilt myself from nothing. This wasn’t a threat; it was a promise I was ready to defy.
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