Chapter 6 - Jason’s Desperate Pursuit
The lobby of the Vance-Sterling Tower was an imposing monument to old-money wealth and modern architectural power.
Soaring four stories high, with polished Italian travertine marble, monumental bronze sculptures, and an army of immaculately uniformed security officers, the building made the headquarters of Vance Logistics look like a suburban strip-mall office.
Jason and Megan pushed through the revolving glass doors, looking battered, disheveled, and completely out of place. Megan was still clutching her ruined designer bag, her eyes puffy and red, while Jason’s wrinkled suit and frantic expression immediately drew the attention of the security team.
Jason marched directly up to the circular front reception desk, slamming his palms down on the dark granite.
“I am Jason Vance,” he announced, trying to inject an air of executive authority into his shaking voice. “I need to see Elena Vance immediately. Tell her that her husband is downstairs.”
The receptionist, an elegant woman in a tailored navy blazer, looked at Jason over the rim of her tortoiseshell glasses. Her expression was polite, cool, and entirely unbothered.
“Do you have an appointment, Mr. Vance?”
“An appointment?!” Jason snapped, his voice cracking with exasperation. “I am her *husband*! We live in the same house! I don't need a damn appointment to see my own wife!”
“One moment, please,” the receptionist said smoothly. She tapped a few keys on her terminal and picked up a sleek black desk phone, murmuring a few words into the receiver.
After a tense, excruciating sixty seconds, she replaced the handset and looked up at Jason.
“Ms. Sterling is currently in an executive board meeting. However, Mr. Marcus Cole, Senior Managing Partner, will see you in Conference Room B on the concourse level. Security will escort you.”
Two towering security guards in crisp black suits stepped forward, their presence leaving no room for debate. “This way, Mr. Vance. Miss Vance.”
Jason swallowed the lump of pride lodged in his throat and nodded. “Fine. Lead the way.”
They were led down a quiet, carpeted corridor into a glass-walled conference room overlooking an interior Japanese Zen garden. The serenity of the trickling water and raked gravel outside stood in stark, violent contrast to the storm raging inside Jason’s chest.
A minute later, the door opened, and Marcus Cole walked in.
He didn't offer a handshake. He didn't smile. He simply walked to the head of the conference table, set down a slim leather portfolio, and remained standing.
“Mr. Cole,” Jason began immediately, taking a step forward with his hands outstretched in supplication. “Please. You have to tell Elena to talk to me. This whole thing is a massive misunderstanding. Last night… things got out of hand. Megan made a stupid, childish joke, and I was caught off guard. I didn't mean what I said. I love Elena. I have always loved Elena.”
Marcus Cole listened with the detached patience of a judge listening to a career criminal’s fabricated alibi.
“Are you quite finished, Jason?” Marcus asked softly.
Jason blinked, taken aback by the older man’s utter lack of emotion. “I… yes. I just want to see my wife.”
“First of all, she is no longer using your surname. She has legally reverted to Elena Sterling,” Marcus said, pulling a document from his portfolio and sliding it across the table. “Second, she will not be seeing you today, tomorrow, or ever again outside the presence of legal counsel.”
Jason looked down at the document. Bold black letters across the top read:
**PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE AND EQUITABLE DISTRIBUTION.**
“Divorce?” Jason whispered, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “No. No, she can’t divorce me over one argument! We’ve been married for four years!”
“One argument?” Megan piped up from behind Jason, her voice shrill with indignation. “This is ridiculous! She is overreacting because of some stupid scars! Tell her that if she drops these ridiculous financial freezes, I will make a public apology on my Instagram! Isn't that enough?!”
Marcus Cole slowly turned his gaze toward Megan. His hazel eyes were colder than absolute zero.
“Miss Vance,” Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the weight of a funeral toll. “The fact that you are standing in this building instead of sitting in a concrete cell at the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility is a testament to Elena’s bottomless compassion—a compassion that none of you ever deserved.”
Megan took a step back, folding her arms across her chest defiantly. “That crash was settled out of court! You can’t touch me for that!”
“The civil settlement was executed, yes,” Marcus said smoothly, opening a second folder. “However, the non-disclosure agreement stipulated that the terms remained conditional upon the Vance family maintaining zero acts of harassment, defamation, or willful injury against Elena Sterling. Last night, at a public venue, in the presence of forty-two registered witnesses, you physically assaulted Elena, tore her clothing, and publicly defamed her medical history.”
Megan’s jaw dropped. “That wasn't assault! I just pulled her sleeve!”
“Under Section 120.00 of the State Penal Law, that constitutes third-degree assault and criminal mischief,” Marcus continued relentlessly. “Furthermore, your actions constitute an explicit material breach of the original settlement agreement. Which means, Miss Vance, the non-disclosure agreement is void. The District Attorney’s office has already been provided with the unredacted accident report, the reconstruction data from the black box of your vehicle, and the eyewitness statements that were suppressed six years ago.”
Megan gasped, her hand flying to her throat as if she were suddenly choking on her own tongue. “You… you went to the police?!”
“The vehicular assault statute of limitations for hit-and-run resulting in catastrophic injury carries an exception when evidence of fraudulent concealment is discovered,” Marcus said, a cold, predatory smile touching his lips. “You have approximately forty-eight hours before an arrest warrant is signed by a grand jury judge.”
Megan let out a strangled sob, collapsing into one of the leather conference chairs, her entire body shaking with violent tremors of pure panic.
Jason, ignoring his sister completely, stepped closer to Marcus, his eyes wide and pleading. “Mr. Cole, please. What about the logistics firm? If the payroll lines aren't restored by five o'clock today, five hundred truck drivers won't get paid. The company will enter involuntary Chapter 7 liquidation. My father built that company from nothing!”
“Your father ran that company into the ground with reckless gambles, and Elena kept it on life support because she was trying to be a dutiful wife to a man who didn't even have the decency to defend her against his own vicious sister,” Marcus replied, snapping his portfolio shut.
“There is no negotiation, Jason. The bankruptcy filing will proceed. The eviction of your mother from the Westchester property will proceed. And the divorce proceedings will be finalized in accordance with the prenuptial agreement you signed.”
“The prenuptial agreement?” Jason whispered, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. “The prenup gave her fifty percent of our joint marital assets!”
“Correction,” Marcus said, leaning in until he was mere inches from Jason’s pale face. “The prenup gave her fifty percent of all assets acquired during the marriage, plus one hundred percent of all separate property brought into the marriage. Since Vance Logistics was entirely collateralized by her family foundation, and the family estate was purchased with her private trust funds… you, Jason, have accumulated zero net marital equity.”
Marcus pointed a manicured finger toward the exit.
May you like
“You walk away with your personal clothing, your personal vehicle—which currently has three outstanding lease payments—and whatever change you have in your checking account. Now, get out of this building before I have security throw you onto the pavement.”
***
