PART 4

My father ended the call.

When he told me what had happened, I felt a strange mixture of gratitude and sadness.

Aaron had never spoken to my father that way before.

He had once sought my father’s advice about a business negotiation. He had once helped my mother carry groceries from her car without being asked. He had once spent an entire afternoon repairing a loose step on their porch because my father had trouble bending his knee.

I remembered those moments.

I did not need to pretend they had never happened.

But good memories could not erase what was happening now.

And they could not obligate me to remain married to the person Aaron had become.

At 2:00 p.m., the Prescott Global board convened an emergency meeting.

I wasn’t there.

I had no reason to attend, and I had no desire to turn my private life into a corporate performance.

But I knew enough about the company to understand why the board was concerned.

Prescott Global was not a small family business anymore. It managed a network of logistics, commercial property, and technology investments across several regions.

Aaron was its chief executive.

His father, Richard Prescott, remained chairman emeritus and held considerable influence among the older shareholders.

The company had a reputation to protect.

The board’s first concern was not whether Aaron had been a faithful husband.

It was whether the CEO’s personal conduct had created a conflict of interest, reputational risk, or inappropriate use of corporate resources.

That distinction would become important.

During the meeting, the board chair, Margaret Ellis, asked Aaron directly whether his relationship with Jasmine Cole had affected any business decisions.

Aaron denied any improper conduct.

“Jasmine is a senior employee,” he said. “She works closely with me. Any suggestion that her professional position is inappropriate is baseless.”

Margaret folded her hands.

“No one has reached a conclusion. We are asking whether there are records we need to preserve.”

“Records of what?”

“Travel expenses, reimbursements, relevant communications, and any decisions concerning Ms. Cole’s compensation or promotion.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened.

“Are you investigating me because my wife sent a message on Slack?”

“We are responding to a public concern involving the company’s chief executive and an employee. We would be negligent if we ignored it.”

“Claire has no role here.”

“That’s not entirely accurate.”

The board secretary opened another document.

“Mrs. Prescott holds no executive position at Prescott Global. However, her attorney has identified potential issues involving company records and requests that relevant materials be preserved. We have an obligation to take that seriously.”

Aaron looked around the table.

Several directors avoided his eyes.

Others watched him closely.

He had spent years cultivating the belief that Prescott Global was an extension of his authority.

He had forgotten that the board was not his personal staff.

Margaret continued.

“We are not asking you to resign. We are asking for cooperation with an independent review.”

“And Jasmine?”

“She will be interviewed separately.”

Aaron’s voice turned cold.

“She has done nothing wrong.”

“Then the review should establish that.”

For the first time, Aaron appeared to understand that he could not simply order the problem to disappear.

The meeting ended without a public statement.

But the board’s decision to preserve records meant that any relevant evidence would have to be handled through formal procedures.

And Aaron could no longer assume that his position would protect him from scrutiny.

That evening, Jasmine arrived at Aaron’s apartment.

He had gone home alone for the first time in months.

The lights were off.

His suitcases remained where Claire had left them that morning, stacked near the entrance after the receptionist arranged for them to be delivered to his office.

Jasmine stood in the doorway of the living room.

“You haven’t answered my messages.”

“I’ve been in meetings.”

“I know. Everyone knows.”

Aaron poured himself a drink.

Jasmine watched him.

“Is Claire really divorcing you?”

“Yes.”

“Because of me?”

He turned toward her.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

The words landed harder than he intended.

Jasmine’s expression changed.

For three years, she had learned to interpret Aaron’s silences, anticipate his moods, and recognize the rare moments when he wanted someone to tell him he was right.

She had believed she understood him.

She had also believed that, eventually, he would leave his wife.

Not because he had promised it directly.

Because of the way he spoke about Claire.

He described her as old-fashioned, overly sensitive, and uninterested in his work. He said they had grown apart. He said their marriage had become a formality.

He never mentioned the quiet sacrifices Claire had made to accommodate his ambitions.

He never mentioned the nights she had waited for him.

He never mentioned that he had once told her he could not imagine a future without her.

Jasmine had accepted the version of the marriage that benefited her.

Now, for the first time, she was uncertain.

“What happens now?” she asked.

Aaron set down his glass.

“Nothing happens. Claire will calm down.”

“She sent a message to the entire company.”

“She wanted attention.”

“Then why did the board call an emergency meeting?”

He looked at her sharply.

“Because people enjoy drama.”

Jasmine hesitated.

“Did you tell them about us?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

She stared at him.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Jasmine asked the question she had been avoiding for months.

“Are you going to marry me?”

Aaron’s face hardened.

“Is that what this is about?”

“I’m asking you a question.”

“Not tonight.”

“You’ve been saying that for a year.”

He turned away.

“Jasmine, I have a company to run. My wife has decided to turn our private problems into public theater. My father is calling me every twenty minutes. The board is treating me like a criminal. And you’re asking me about marriage?”

Her eyes filled, but she did not cry.

“You told me your marriage was over.”

“It was.”

“Then why does it bother you so much that she’s leaving?”

Aaron opened his mouth.

No answer came.

Jasmine watched him, and for the first time, she wondered whether she had mistaken being wanted for being loved.

She picked up her bag.

“I think I should go.”

“Fine.”

She stopped at the door.

“You know what the worst part is, Aaron? I used to think Claire was the obstacle between us.”

He said nothing.

“Now I’m beginning to think you never intended to choose either of us. You just wanted both of us to keep waiting.”

Then she left.

Aaron stood alone in the apartment.

For the first time in years, the silence did not feel peaceful.

It felt like something he had created and could no longer control.

Three days later, I returned to our house to collect the rest of my belongings.

Nathan had advised me to arrange the visit in advance and to avoid confrontation.

My parents came with me.

We arrived at 10:00 a.m.

Aaron’s car was in the driveway.

I had expected him to be at the office.

Instead, he was standing in the living room wearing the gray sweater I had bought him on our second anniversary.

For one brief second, seeing him there brought back a memory of us sitting beside the fireplace, sharing takeout and laughing at a terrible movie.

Then I remembered why I had come.

“Claire.”

He sounded tired.

“I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“I sent an email to your attorney.”

“I thought we could talk before all of this gets worse.”

My father remained near the entrance while my mother went upstairs to help me pack.

I stayed where I was.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Aaron looked around the room.

“This house. Our marriage. The way you handled everything.”

I almost smiled.

“The way I handled everything?”

“You could have called me.”

“I did. Many times. You didn’t answer.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He looked frustrated.

“Claire, I was working.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Sometimes.”

“At the hotel with Jasmine?”

His jaw tightened.

“You don’t know what happened.”

“Then explain it.”

He hesitated.

That hesitation told me more than his next sentence.

“We’re close,” he said. “She’s important to the company.”

“I didn’t ask whether she was important to the company.”

“Nothing is as simple as you think.”

I looked at him for a long moment.

“You know what I used to do when you stayed out all night?”

He didn’t answer.

“I would make sure the house was clean before you came home. I would check whether you had a meeting in the morning. I’d have your breakfast ready in case you wanted it. I’d tell myself you were exhausted and that I should make things easier for you.”

My voice shook, but I kept going.

“Then I would sit at this kitchen counter and wonder whether I had done something wrong.”

Aaron looked away.

“I never asked you to do all that.”

“No. You didn’t.”

I took a breath.

“That’s what made it so lonely. You didn’t have to ask. I kept doing it because I loved you.”

He looked at me then.

For the first time, I saw something other than irritation in his face.

Regret, perhaps.

Or fear.

“Claire, I never wanted you to feel that way.”

“But you knew I did.”

He said nothing.

“You knew because I told you. And every time I did, you said you were busy, or tired, or under pressure. You promised things would change, and I believed you because I wanted to believe you.”

I looked toward the stairs.

“I am not here to punish you, Aaron. I am here to leave.”

He took one step toward me.

“What if I don’t want you to?”

The question was so quiet that, for a moment, I almost misunderstood it.

I looked at the man I had married.

“Then you should have acted like it before I reached this point.”

His face crumpled slightly.

Only for a moment.

Then the familiar defensiveness returned.

“So you’re really going to throw away three years because of a few mistakes?”

I felt something inside me settle.

Not anger.

Not even sadness.

Clarity.

“That’s the problem, Aaron. You still think this is about a few mistakes.”

I walked past him toward the staircase.

He didn’t follow.

Upstairs, I packed my books, my grandmother’s jewelry, the framed photographs of my parents, and the small ceramic bowl I had made in an art class years before meeting him.

I left the expensive furniture.

I left the wine collection.

I left the paintings Aaron had chosen because they matched the walls.

I left the life we had assembled together, piece by piece, until it had become more important to him than the person living inside it.

When I came downstairs, he was standing beside the front window.

“Are you taking your wedding ring?” he asked.

I looked at my hand.

The ring was already in my pocket.

“I haven’t decided what to do with it.”

He swallowed.

“Did you ever love me?”

The question stopped me.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Then I answered honestly.

“Yes.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly.

“But I cannot keep using that love as a reason to stay somewhere I am no longer respected.”

I walked out of the house.

My mother followed me.

My father carried the last box.

And Aaron remained inside, surrounded by everything he had once believed made him successful.

For the first time, none of it could make me turn around.

A week later, Nathan called me into his office.

He had a document open on his laptop.

“Claire, I need you to look at something.”

I sat down.

“What is it?”

“Mercer Ridge Capital.”

My stomach tightened.

“Did Aaron’s attorneys contact the company?”

“No. Not directly.”

He turned the screen toward me.

“Your grandfather’s investment company is involved in a transaction with Prescott Global.”

I stared at the document.

I knew Mercer Ridge Capital held interests in dozens of businesses. It invested through different entities, and its portfolio was reviewed by professional managers.

I had never attempted to manage those investments personally.

But I had received regular summaries.

Prescott Global had appeared in one of those reports years earlier as a company in which a Mercer Ridge investment vehicle held a minority interest through a separate fund.

At the time, the position had been small enough that I had paid little attention to it.

Nathan enlarged the relevant section.

“According to the preliminary records, an investment vehicle associated with your grandfather’s estate holds a substantial minority position in a company that is now part of Prescott Global’s ownership structure.”

I read the figures.

Then I read them again.

“How substantial?”

“The exact percentage depends on how the subsidiaries and voting arrangements are calculated. Your grandfather’s structure is complicated. We’ll need independent confirmation from the trustees and corporate records.”

I stared at the screen.

“Does Aaron know?”

“Not from anything we’ve seen so far.”

I thought about the way Aaron spoke about his company.

The way he referred to Prescott Global as though it were his personal kingdom.

The way he dismissed anyone who lacked an executive title.

The way he had once laughed when I told him I spent some weekends reviewing investment reports.

“You’ll have to explain this to me,” I said.

Nathan folded his hands.

“Your grandfather’s investment vehicle appears to have participated in a financing arrangement that eventually became part of Prescott Global’s capital structure. It doesn’t mean you personally control the company. It doesn’t mean you can remove Aaron. It does mean the ownership records deserve careful examination.”

“Why wasn’t this disclosed during our marriage?”

“Because the investment was held through a separate structure, and the documents may not have required personal disclosure in the way you’re imagining. We’ll review the agreement and the applicable obligations.”

I leaned back.

For years, I had assumed that my inheritance and Aaron’s company were separate worlds.

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART…