The 3:17 A.M. Slack Message That Brought Down Prescott Global: How the Invisible Wife I Ignored Owned My Entire Empire

I stared down at the screen of my phone for two seconds before bringing it back to my ear.

“Jasmine,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion.

“How did you get this number? My attorneys specifically requested that all communications go through official channels.”

Over the line, the sound of muffled traffic and heavy breathing gave away that she was calling from a street corner in downtown Boston, likely hiding from the reporters currently swarming the lobby of Prescott Global.

“Aaron’s ruined, Claire!” Jasmine blurted out, her polished, confident veneer completely shattered.

“The board just suspended him! They’ve frozen his corporate credit cards, his executive expense accounts, and his personal checking funds linked to company assets! He’s locked out of his own office!”

“That sounds like a conversation Aaron should be having with his financial advisors, not with his wife—or rather, his soon-to-be-ex-wife,” I replied coldly.

“Listen to me!” Jasmine’s voice rose, cracking with genuine panic.

“You don't understand! Aaron told me you were just a boring housewife who wouldn't even know how to open a bank account without his permission! He lied to me! He told me he was going to divorce you the moment the Apex Capital merger went through so we could get married!”

A cold, bitter amusement flickered in my chest.

“And you believed him?” I asked.

“Of course I believed him!” she sobbed.

“He’s the CEO of Prescott Global! But now that the company is being absorbed by Apex Equity—which you own—he’s worthless to me! He doesn't even have enough cash to pay for his hotel room tonight!”

I took a slow sip of my black coffee, letting the silence stretch across the phone line like a razor wire.

“Jasmine,” I said softly.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because… because I have things,” she whispered rapidly, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial lower tone.

“Emails. Text messages. Financial records of corporate funds Aaron embezzled to pay for my apartment, my jewelry, and our trips to Europe. If you help me… if you give me immunity from the upcoming corporate fraud investigations… I’ll hand over every single piece of evidence to destroy him completely.”

I stared out at the crashing waves below the cliffside.

Jasmine thought she was playing a clever game of self-preservation.

She thought she could trade Aaron’s head to save her own skin, just like she had traded her morals for a front-row seat at his side during high-society galas.

She didn't realize she was walking straight into a trap that had been carefully baited, measured, and locked weeks before I ever posted that 3:17 a.m. Slack message.

“Meet me,” I said quietly.

“Where?” she asked, a spark of desperate hope flashing in her voice.

“The private terrace of the Boston Harbor Hotel. Tonight at eight o'clock.”

“I’ll be there,” Jasmine whispered, and the line went dead.

I lowered the phone and looked over at Nathan, who had been listening to every word on speaker mode through his tablet.

A slow, knowing smile spread across Nathan’s face.

“Well,” Nathan murmured, closing his briefcase with a crisp snap.

“It appears the mistress is finally ready to throw the golden boy under the bus.”

“She thinks she’s cutting a deal,” I said, turning away from the ocean wind and walking back toward the warmth of the house.

“She doesn't realize that by the time she hands over those files tonight, Aaron Prescott won't just be unemployed. He’ll be facing federal indictment for corporate embezzlement.”

Nathan chuckled, following me inside the grand double doors.

“Claire,” Nathan said admiringly.