Chapter 5 - THE LOCKOUT
By ten o'clock on Monday morning, I was sitting in Jonathan Reed's top-floor conference room in downtown Raleigh.
I was wearing a simple navy blue tailored suit, my hair pinned back neatly. Though I was still recovering from the infection, the IV fluids had restored my energy, and the clarity in my mind was absolute.
Across the marble conference table sat Jonathan, his senior associate Sarah, and a forensic accountant named Miller, who had spent the entire night going through the financial records of Mercer Innovations and the Carter Trust.
"The extent of the fraud is staggering, Ava," Miller said, sliding a thick binder across the table toward me. "Over three years, Ethan diverted six hundred and eighty thousand dollars directly from your commercial properties into his private accounts. He created shell companies—'Mercer Development Group' and 'Vance Consulting'—to issue fake invoices for property maintenance that was never performed."
I looked down at the paper trail. There it was, in black and white: thousands of dollars transferred every month to pay for luxury car leases, high-end dinners, designer clothes, and hotel stays.
"And what about the house?" I asked softly.
"The house is completely secured," Jonathan answered. "At eight-thirty AM, my team filed a formal eviction notice against Diane Mercer for illegal occupancy. A sheriff's deputy delivered the notice to her fifteen minutes ago. She has exactly twenty-four hours to vacate the premises with her personal clothing. Everything else inside that house—the furniture, the art, the appliances—was purchased using trust funds and remains your property."
A soft knock came at the conference room door. Jonathan's receptionist stepped in, looking slightly flustered.
"Mr. Reed," she said. "Ethan Mercer is downstairs in the lobby. He is demanding to see Mrs. Mercer. He is causing a scene with building security."
Jonathan looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "Would you like me to have him removed by the police, Ava? Or do you want to speak with him?"
I took a deep breath, smoothing the skirt of my suit. "Bring him up, Jonathan. But let security stay outside the door."
Five minutes later, the double doors of the conference room burst open.
Ethan rushed inside, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, his designer shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked nothing like the polished, confident businessman he always pretended to be. He looked frantic. Desperate.
"Ava!" he yelled, taking a step toward me. "What the hell is going on?! Have you lost your mind?!"
Jonathan immediately stood up, his tall frame cutting off Ethan's path. "Step back, Mr. Mercer. You will maintain a respectful distance from my client, or you will be escorted directly to the county jail for trespassing."
Ethan stopped, glaring at Jonathan before turning his eyes back to me. "Ava, please! Talk to me! Why are you doing this?! My mother called me crying! My company accounts are frozen! My employees can't get into the office!"
I looked at him calmly from my seat at the head of the table. "Your mother didn't cry when she pulled the blanket off my body while I had a 104-degree fever, Ethan. She didn't cry when she grabbed my wrist and tried to force me onto my feet to cook her dinner."
Ethan blinked, stutting. "She... she was just stressed, Ava! She's old-fashioned! You know how she is! You can't destroy our entire life over a disagreement about dinner!"
"A disagreement about dinner?" I let out a short, cold laugh that made Ethan flinch. "Is that what you call it? What about the six hundred and eighty thousand dollars you stole from my father's estate, Ethan? Is that also a disagreement?"
Ethan's face drained of color. He looked at the binder on the table, then at Miller, the forensic accountant. "I... I didn't steal anything! I invested those funds to grow our family's future! We're married, Ava! What's yours is mine!"
"Nothing of mine was ever yours," I said firmly, standing up to meet his gaze. "My father made sure of that. You took advantage of my grief. You used my gentleness as an invitation to steal from me, gaslight me, and turn me into a servant for your mother."
"Ava, please," Ethan begged, his voice dropping into a desperate whine as he took a half-step forward, his hands clasped together. "I love you. We can fix this. I'll apologize for my mother. I'll make her move out! We can go to counseling!"
"Where were you this weekend, Ethan?" I asked quietly.
He froze. "I... I told you. I was at a business conference in Atlanta."
Jonathan tapped a key on his laptop, and the large television monitor on the conference room wall clicked on.
A high-resolution photograph appeared on the screen. It was taken the previous afternoon at the Grand Bohemian Hotel in Asheville. Ethan was sitting by the pool, laughing, holding a glass of champagne, with his arm wrapped securely around Chloe Vance.
Ethan stared at the screen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He couldn't speak. He couldn't lie. The evidence was floating six feet wide right in front of his face.
"You weren't in Atlanta," I said, my voice ice cold. "And you weren't building our future. You were spending my father's money on another woman while your mother was abusing me in my own home."
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I picked up a pen, signed the final page of the divorce petition and trust revocation documents lying before me, and slid them across the table toward him.
"You have twenty-four hours to clear your personal belongings out of my house, Ethan," I said, stepping away from the table. "After that, any communication you wish to have will go through Mr. Reed. Get out of my face."
