Chapter 3 - THE FAMILY TRIBUNALAt 11:15 PM, the front door of our McLean home flew open with a violent crash.
Heavy, uneven footsteps echoed across the hardwood foyer, followed by the slurred, furious shouting of a man whose world was unraveling faster than he could comprehend.
"Lauren! Where are you, you ungrateful bitch?!"
Andrew stormed into the hallway, his tuxedo jacket half-unbuttoned, his silk tie yanked loose around his neck. His face was flushed with a dangerous mix of alcohol, humiliation, and unbridled rage. Behind him trailed Patricia, her face twisted into a mask of righteous indignation, and Marcus, who looked more nervous than angry.
I didn't move from my desk. The door to my home office was open just enough for my voice to carry clearly into the hallway.
"I'm in the office, Andrew," I said, my voice unnervingly calm. "Keep your voice down. The girls are asleep."
Andrew pushed through the glass-paneled door, his eyes wild. He slammed both palms onto my minimalist desk, leaning over until his face was inches from mine. Spittle flew as he spoke.
"Are you out of your mind?!" he roared. "Do you have any idea what you did tonight? You walked out! You humiliated me in front of the Henderson group! They were supposed to finalize the commercial development partnership on Monday, and now they think I can't even control my own wife!"
Patricia swept into the room behind him, crossing her arms over her sequined evening gown. Her lips pursed into a tight, venomous line.
"I always said you spoiled her, Andrew," Patricia spat, glaring at me as if I were a piece of dirt on her shoe. "A woman who doesn't know her place—who can't even produce male heirs to carry the Vance name—has no right making a public spectacle of our family. You should have put her in her place years ago."
I slowly leaned back in my leather ergonomic chair, resting my hands neatly on the armrests. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't flinch. I simply looked at my husband—the man who had watched his mother snatch food from his daughters' plates and rewarded her with a toast.
"Your mother is right about one thing, Andrew," I said softly. "I didn't know my place. But I've finally found it."
Marcus stepped forward into the room, holding his phone out like a shield. "Andrew, calm down. Let's just talk. Lauren, drop the attitude. What’s going on? Andrew said something about a text you sent him regarding some financial note?"
Andrew scoffed, straightening his posture and sneering down at me. "Oh, that? Some pathetic bluff. She thinks she can scare me with some fake legal paper she printed off the internet. My accounts are locked down, my investors are backing me, and by next week, I’m filing for divorce and taking full custody of the girls. You’ll leave this house with nothing, Lauren. Not a single cent."
He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a gold-plated fountain pen, and tossed a blank check onto my desk.
"Write down whatever paltry sum you think you need to pack your bags and disappear," Andrew sneered. "Consider it severance pay for a failed marriage."
I looked down at the blank check, then slowly raised my eyes to meet his.
"You think this is a divorce negotiation, Andrew?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"What else would it be?" he barked, laughing bitterly. "You're a part-time apartment rental agent! You live off my residual investments! Without me, you're nothing!"
May you like
I reached into the leather folder on my desk, slid the 5.4-million-peso promissory note across the glass surface, and stopped it right beneath his trembling hand.
"Look at the signature, Andrew," I said. "And check the clock. You have forty-four minutes."
