Chapter 8 - The Underworld Beckons
Desperation makes people do foolish things. Julian Vance, sitting on the stained bedspread of a $60-a-night motel, was beyond desperate.
He stared at the invitation on his phone. The Waldorf Astoria. The same venue where they had held their anniversary gala just 24 hours ago. It felt like a lifetime.
"We have to go," Julian said, his eyes bloodshot. "We have to go to the gala and beg for mercy. It’s exactly what she told me last night."
Beatrice, sitting on a rickety plastic chair and refusing to touch anything in the room, scoffed. "Beg? A Vance does not beg. We fight. There must be a legal loophole. A divorce settlement! She is legally your wife. You are entitled to half her assets!"
Julian let out a dry, hacking laugh. "Half her assets? Mother, did you forget the iron-clad prenuptial agreement you forced her to sign?"
Beatrice froze.
"You drafted it yourself," Julian reminded her, a manic grin spreading across his face. "You wanted to ensure the 'grifter' couldn't take a dime of the Vance fortune if we divorced. You made it completely airtight. What’s hers is hers, what’s mine is mine."
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Beatrice covered her mouth, a sickening wave of nausea washing over her. Her own arrogance had just severed their only lifeline to a trillion-dollar empire.
"We are going to that gala," Julian said, standing up, smoothing out his wrinkled shirt. "And we are going to get on our knees just like she asked. It is the only way."
