Chapter 2 - The Paper on the Table
Silence swallowed the grand dining room. It wasn't just quiet; it was the kind of absolute stillness that follows a sudden, catastrophic accident.
Bellamy stared at Byron, her mouth open, the dark coffee stain on her designer sleeve entirely forgotten. "What... what did you just say?"
Byron didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to. He walked smoothly over to the sideboard, picked up the thick leather folder he had placed there before dinner, and brought it back to the table. He tossed it right into the middle of the feast, right between the crystal gravy boat and Bellamy’s untouched plate.
THUD.
The heavy leather folder landed with a dull, authoritative weight.
"Byron, darling," Bellamy’s mother, Evelyn, stammered, her voice trembling as she clutched her pearl necklace. "This is... this is ridiculous. It's Christmas Day! Bellamy was just stressed! The dress was an Italian import, and your mother was being so—"
"Evelyn," Byron cut her off, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth. "If you open your mouth to insult my mother again in this house, you will be escorted off the property by security before you can finish the sentence."
Evelyn's mouth snapped shut. Her husband, Richard, laid a warning hand on her arm, his face completely drained of color.
Bellamy looked from her mother to the folder. Her hands were shaking now, her long manicured nails tapping against the polished wood. "Byron, stop playing games. You can't just say 'we are divorced.' That's not how the law works. We have a marriage. We have an estate!"
"We had a prenuptial agreement, Bellamy," Byron said, pulling a pen from his inside suit pocket and laying it beside the folder. "Section 14, Subsection B. The Infidelity and Domestic Misconduct Clause."
Bellamy froze. The color drained from her cheeks so fast it looked as if she had seen a ghost.
"Did you really think I was oblivious?" Byron asked softly, leaning both hands on the table and towering over her. "Did you think I didn't know about the private bank account in the Caymans? Did you think I didn't see the real estate transfers you attempted through your brother’s shell company last month?"
Bellamy’s brother, Julian, who had been sitting smugly at the far end of the table sipping fifty-year-old scotch, suddenly choked on his drink, coughing violently.
"Julian," Byron said without even turning his head toward him. "Your firm's access to my venture fund's capital accounts was terminated at 4:00 PM yesterday afternoon. My forensic auditors have spent the last three weeks reviewing your books. You have forty-eight hours to return the eight hundred thousand dollars you siphoned, or the state prosecutor receives the packet sitting in my lawyer's office."
Julian turned as white as the snow falling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Byron... please," Bellamy whispered, her voice dropping into a desperate, frantic register. She reached out to touch his arm, her eyes filling with instant, calculated tears. "I love you. We're a family! It was an accident! I lost my temper because I wanted everything to be perfect for your mother!"
"You slapped a sixty-six-year-old woman across the face in front of her grandchildren," Byron said, his eyes hard as flint. "You treated the woman who raised me, who worked three jobs to put me through MIT, like a servant in my own house."
May you like
He flipped open the folder. Inside were fully executed divorce petitions, signed by his lead attorney, along with asset division waivers that stripped Bellamy of any right to his fortune, the mansion, or his corporate holdings.
"Sign the papers, Bellamy," Byron commanded softly. "Or we go to trial, and I publish the security camera footage of what you just did to every local news station and corporate board you try to associate with for the rest of your life."
