Just then, his phone rang. It was his boss, Mr. Sterling—the elusive, ruthless CEO of the multinational conglomerate where Marcus worked as a mid-level financial analyst. Marcus had never spoken to the big boss directly; usually, commands came down through three tiers of management.
Trembling, Marcus answered it. “H-hello? Mr. Sterling?”
“Marcus Henderson,” a cold, aristocratic voice echoed through the speaker. It wasn’t the CEO. It was the voice of Thomas Vance, the chief legal counsel for Sterling Global. “I am calling to inform you that your employment with Sterling Global and all of its subsidiaries has been terminated, effective immediately.”
Marcus gasped, the phone nearly slipping from his ear. “What? Why? I’ve been a top performer this quarter! You can’t just fire me without cause!”
“There is cause, Mr. Henderson,” Thomas Vance replied smoothly. “Gross moral turpitude, violation of company ethics, and quite frankly, severe lack of intelligence. Furthermore, the luxury condominium you currently reside in on 5th Avenue? The corporate lease has been terminated. You have exactly twenty-four hours to vacate the premises before your belongings are thrown onto the sidewalk.”
Marcus’s knees buckled. He caught himself against the wall, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “No… no, this is a mistake! Who authorized this? Who has the power to do this to me?!”
The voice on the other end chuckled, a dark, chilling sound.
“The person who authorized this is the majority shareholder of Sterling Global. A woman you know very well. Her name is Julianne Sterling. Though, I believe you knew her as Julianne Henderson.”
The Awakening of the Beast
The phone went dead.
Marcus stared at the black screen, his brain refusing to process the words. Julianne Sterling? Julianne… his quiet, submissive, penniless wife was the heir to the largest shipping and real estate empire in the country?
“No,” Marcus whispered to himself. “No, that’s impossible. She didn’t have a dime. Her clothes were from department stores. She drove a beat-up sedan. She didn’t fight back when my mother insulted her!”
“Marcus? What is it? Who was on the phone?” Eleanor asked, noticing her son’s sudden ghostly pallor.
Marcus didn’t answer her. He spun around and sprinted out of the clinic, leaving his screaming mother, his furious sister, and his weeping mistress behind. He threw himself into his car and sped toward the mediator’s office, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He needed to see those papers. He needed to see her signature.
When he burst through the doors of the mediator’s office, the secretary tried to stop him, but he shoved past her, storming into the conference room. The mediator, an older man named Mr. Harrison, was calmly packing his briefcase.
“Where is she?!” Marcus yelled, slamming his hands onto the mahogany table. “Where did Julianne go? And who paid for that Mercedes outside?!”
Mr. Harrison looked up, entirely unfazed by Marcus’s outburst. He adjusted his glasses and took a document from his briefcase, sliding it across the table.
“Miss Julianne has already left the country, Mr. Henderson. She and the children are currently en route to Switzerland.”
Marcus snatched up the document. It was the final page of the divorce decree. But where Julianne’s signature was supposed to be, she hadn’t just signed her name. She had used a custom, heavy-ink fountain pen, signing it: Julianne Vance-Sterling. Attached to the back of the document was a certified bank statement, detailing a single trust account holding a balance that made Marcus’s head spin.
“She… she lied to me,” Marcus stammered, his voice cracking. “She hid this from me for seven years! We were married! That money should be half mine! The law states—”
