Chapter 3 - The Private Equity Mastermind
For four days following Flynn's arrest, I remained in the hospital under the direct protection of Dr. Marcus Reed and a private security team I hired using my personal, pre-marital trust fund.
Flynn’s high-priced legal team had managed to secure his temporary release on a two-million-dollar cash bail within twenty-four hours, citing his lack of prior criminal record and high corporate standing. But his freedom was a golden cage; a strict temporary restraining order kept him at least five hundred yards away from me at all times.
On the fifth day, I was officially discharged. Instead of returning to the penthouse apartment I had shared with Flynn in Gold Coast, I checked into a secured private suite at the Peninsula Hotel under my maiden name, Mabel Sterling.
Sitting in a plush armchair with a laptop resting on my lap, I summoned the one person in Chicago who could help me pull off a corporate execution: Carter Hayes.
Carter was sixty-two years old, silver-haired, ruthless, and the founding senior partner of Apex Capital—the top-tier private equity firm where I had worked as a lead strategist before marrying Flynn. When he walked into my suite carrying two files and a mug of black coffee, his expression was dark.
"You look thin, Mabel," Carter said gently, sitting opposite me. "And pale. How is the physical recovery?"
"The surgical incisions are healing," I replied, opening my laptop. "The rest doesn't matter right now. Did you pull the financial structures I asked for?"
Carter tossed a thick red binder onto the coffee table. "Vance Global is a house of cards, just like you suspected. Flynn has been running the conglomerate on arrogance and borrowed capital for eighteen months."
"Explain," I said, leaning forward despite the dull ache in my side.
"Flynn took massive short positions on renewable energy tech last quarter, assuming his personal connections in Washington would stall green-energy legislation," Carter explained, tapping the binder. "He was wrong. The bill passed yesterday. Vance Global is facing a eighty-million-dollar liquidity margin call by the end of this month."
A cold, satisfied smile touched my lips. "And where was he planning to get eighty million dollars on short notice?"
"He was planning to liquidate your joint marital assets—specifically the forty percent stake in Sterling Logistics that your late father left you," Carter revealed, his eyes narrowing. "He filed emergency paperwork with his corporate attorneys three weeks ago to authorize a transfer, claiming he had your power of attorney."
I closed my eyes briefly, letting the rage burn through me like pure fuel. Not only had Flynn stabbed me and killed our children, but he had also been systematically plotting to rob my family's legacy to cover his reckless financial gambles.
"He signed those power-of-attorney documents using a forged signature," I said quietly. "I never gave him access to Sterling Logistics."
"If we expose the forgery now, his lawyers will tie it up in probate court for years," Carter warned. "What do you want to do?"
"We don't expose it yet," I replied, opening a complex financial spreadsheet on my screen. "We let him think he still has access. We let him attempt the margin call using those forged assets. Meanwhile, Apex Capital will quietly initiate a hostile takeover of Vance Global's voting shares."
Carter chuckled, a razor-sharp glint appearing in his eyes. "You want to strip him of his company?"
"I don't just want to strip him of his company, Carter," I said, looking up at him with unflinching resolve. "I want to take Vance Global, liquidate its assets, buy up its debt, and hand him a personal bankruptcy filing right before he walks into his criminal trial."
"And what about his darling mistress?" Carter asked. "Selina Cole?"
"Selina Cole runs a boutique interior design firm that relies entirely on Vance Global contracts," I answered, pulling up a secondary file. "I’ve already spoken to the district attorney. The police recovered the gate security footage from our Gold Coast property."
"What does the footage show?"
"It shows Selina sitting in her Mercedes three blocks from my house at 1:15 PM," I revealed cold-bloodedly. "It shows her using a small cosmetic razor blade to make a tiny scratch on her own left forearm before wiping artificial tears on her cheeks and walking up to my front door."
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Carter let out a low whistle. "She staged the attack."
"She staged it to provoke Flynn into discarding me," I said softly. "She wanted the status, the penthouse, and the money. Now, I am going to make sure she gets a front-row seat to Flynn’s complete annihilation—right before the state of Illinois charges her as an accessory to attempted murder."
