My Late Husband's Mentor Proposed to Me at an Executive Meeting — What My Ex-Fiancé Exposed Next Forced Me to Sacrifice Everything
The hope I’d felt at the library was a distant memory by the time I woke up the next morning. Damon wasn’t just escalating; he was cutting off every avenue of retreat.
An urgent email from Albert’s personal assistant, discreetly sent to my personal email address, landed in my inbox. It contained a copy of a court summons: Damon had filed an emergency petition in Fulton County Probate Court.
The petition sought to declare Albert mentally incapacitated and place him under temporary corporate guardianship. If approved, Albert would lose all legal autonomy, and Damon, as his guardian, would gain full control over his assets, including the decisive Westside Trust shares.
This was his ultimate move. He wasn’t just trying to sideline Albert; he was trying to erase him.
I rushed to Apex, my mind a whirl of frantic possibilities. I had to warn Albert, had to show him the verified deed, but my access was revoked.
As I approached the main lobby turnstiles, my security badge flashed red. A harsh, electronic *buzz* filled the air.
Two security officers, stern-faced and unsmiling, immediately stepped forward. One, a burly man named Officer Miller, placed a hand on my arm.
“Ms. Jenkins,” he said, his voice flat. “Your building access has been officially revoked. You are no longer permitted on Apex Urban Design premises.”
HR Director Brenda Gaines emerged from behind the reception desk, her face grim. She carried a sealed envelope.
“This is official notification, Ms. Jenkins,” she stated, her voice devoid of its usual corporate politeness. “Your contract with Apex Urban Design is terminated, effective immediately. Please gather any personal belongings from your cubicle, under escort.”
My throat tightened. “You can’t do this. I have a court document proving Damon is attempting to defraud Albert and the community.”
Brenda’s gaze remained unyielding. “Your employment status is a separate matter. These actions are a direct result of your non-compliance with the company’s ethical conduct policy and the explicit directive regarding contact with Mr. Washington.”
She pushed the envelope into my hand. It was thick, a dismissal letter, no doubt loaded with legal boilerplate.
Officer Miller tightened his grip on my arm, guiding me toward the elevator. The lobby was filled with the usual morning rush of employees, their conversations now stilled. Every eye was on me, on the spectacle of my escorted removal.
Then I saw him. Damon. He stood near the executive elevators, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He didn’t approach, didn’t say anything to Brenda or the security guards. He just watched, a silent, triumphant observer.
As Officer Miller gently steered me towards the revolving doors, Damon stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. His words were a soft, venomous hiss.
“Consider your career in Southern urban planning officially over, Maya,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Nobody hires damaged goods.”
The revolving doors pushed me out into the crisp Atlanta morning. The city skyline, usually a source of inspiration, now felt cold and indifferent. My career, my professional identity, everything I had worked for, was being systematically dismantled. But I still had the deed. And now, I had Dr. Dubois. This wasn’t over.
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