Chapter 2 - The CEO’s Meltdown and the Boardroom Ambush
The glass walls of Aaron Prescott’s executive office on the forty-second floor vibrated with the force of his fury.
“What do you mean, she’s not answering?!” Aaron roared, slamming his custom titanium smartphone down onto his mahogany desk so hard the screen cracked spiderweb-style.
Across the desk, his chief legal counsel, Richard Vance, adjusted his glasses nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like a condemned man waiting for the guillotine.
“Mr. Prescott, your wife’s phone has been turned off since 3:18 a.m.,” Richard said cautiously, holding up a manila folder.
“Furthermore, the front desk downstairs just brought up two large suitcases filled with your entire bespoke wardrobe, your watch collection, and this formal divorce filing.”
Aaron stared at the thick manila envelope resting on his desk as if it were a venomous snake.
His face was flushed a deep, ugly shade of crimson, the veins in his neck bulging against his starched white collar.
“She locked me out?” Aaron incredulously hissed, his voice rising in pitch.
“She dumped my clothes in the lobby like I’m a common college student? After everything I’ve built for her? After giving her a life she never could have dreamed of on her own?”
Richard didn't point out that Claire’s family background was significantly wealthier and more established than the nouveau-riche Prescott fortune.
Instead, he cleared his throat and slid a printed sheet of paper across the desk.
“Sir… that’s not even the worst of it. Look at the company-wide Slack channel logs from early this morning.”
Aaron snatched the paper up.
His eyes scanned the printed text:
“Good morning. This is Claire Prescott. I’d like to thank Jasmine Cole for taking such exceptional care of my husband. Effective today, Aaron no longer needs to come home.”
The paper crumpled violently in Aaron’s fist.
“She humiliated me,” Aaron whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and sheer panic.
“In front of five hundred employees. Every single department head, every regional manager, every junior analyst—they all saw it before my IT team could scrub the channel.”
“Mr. Prescott, the damage to your corporate image is catastrophic,” Richard warned quietly.
“The board of directors is already calling my private line. They’re holding an emergency executive session in twenty minutes. They want to know why your domestic life is bleeding onto the company’s internal communications network right before our merger talks with Apex Capital.”
Before Aaron could formulate a response, the heavy oak doors of his office swung open without a knock.
Jasmine Cole stood in the doorway, wearing a dangerously tight red designer dress, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, holding a tablet in her hand.
“Aaron, darling, what is going on downstairs?” Jasmine purred, sashaying into the office as if she owned the building.
“There’s a pile of your designer suits sitting right in the middle of the lobby, and reception is whispering like a pack of hens. You need to fix this immediately—it’s ruining the aesthetic of the floor!”
Aaron snapped his head toward her, his eyes flashing with a sudden, uncontainable venom.
“Shut up, Jasmine!” he barked, the volume of his voice making her flinch.
“This is entirely your fault! If you hadn't posted those pictures of us at the Ritz-Carlton on your public Instagram story last night, Claire wouldn't have blown up my entire life!”
Jasmine’s jaw dropped, her artificial pout faltering into genuine shock.
“My fault?! I didn't make you marry a boring, lifeless ghost who stays home knitting while you build an empire! You told me she didn't care what you did! You told me she was practically invisible!”
“She owned a key stake in our primary residential mortgage provider!” Aaron yelled back, slamming his fist on the desk.
“She controls properties across three states! And now she’s divorcing me while our biggest merger in history is hanging by a single thread!”
Jasmine’s face turned pale under her heavy foundation.
“Wait… Claire’s family has money?” she asked, her voice losing its haughty edge.
“More money than my father’s entire manufacturing portfolio,” Aaron muttered bitterly, slumping back into his leather chair as the crushing reality began to sink in.
“And if she’s represented by Nathan Brooks, my assets are going to be picked clean down to the bone.”
Suddenly, the intercom on Aaron’s desk chimed.
“Mr. Prescott,” the receptionist’s voice trembled through the speaker.
“Your mother, Mrs. Eleanor Prescott, is on line two. And she sounds… extremely angry.”
Aaron groaned, rubbing his temples as a splitting headache began to form behind his eyes.
He pressed the blinking button on his console.
“Mother,” Aaron sighed.
“Aaron Sterling Prescott!” Eleanor’s shrill voice pierced the office like a siren.
“What is the meaning of this absolute catastrophe?! My bridge club has been calling me all morning asking why your wife publicly divorced you on an office computer network! Have you lost your mind?! Fix this, Aaron! Fix this right now, or I will personally see to it that you are stripped of your voting shares on the board!”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Aaron sat in the deafening silence of his high-rise office, surrounded by crushed paper, frantic attorneys, and a panicked mistress.
May you like
For three years, he had believed he was the king of his own castle.
He was about to discover that the foundation had been built entirely on borrowed time—and Claire held the detonator.
Related Stories
