Trevor looked at his document. It was a notice of termination from Miles Consulting. He was being removed as CEO, effective immediately, for embezzlement.
At the bottom of his page, I had written a handwritten note:
“The company belongs to me. I funded it, I owned it, and today I removed you from every position you never earned. This is only the beginning.”
Trevor looked up, his face a mask of horror. “You… you killed the company?”
“I liquidated it,” I corrected. “To pay back the creditors you defrauded.”
Denise snatched the papers from his hand. Her eyes scanned the legal jargon, and her face went gray. “The assets… are under investigation?” she wheezed. Then, brilliantly, she fainted, crumpling onto the manicured grass of the house she no longer had access to.
Kaitlyn turned to Trevor. The look in her eyes wasn’t love anymore. It was pure, unadulterated disgust.
“You told me you had power,” she hissed. “You told me the money was yours. You told me she was just a dumb bank account!”
“Kaitlyn, baby, listen—” Trevor reached for her.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed. “You have nothing! You’re nobody!”
She threw the papers at him and turned to walk away, her heels clicking angrily on the pavement.
“Not so fast, Ms. Shaw,” I called out.
The two police officers stepped forward.
“Trevor Miles? Kaitlyn Shaw?” one officer said, pulling out handcuffs. “We have a warrant for your arrest regarding conspiracy to commit insurance fraud and grand larceny.”
Trevor spun around to face me. “Insurance fraud? What are you talking about?”
I held up the photocopy of the Titan Life policy.
“Eighteen million dollars, Trevor?” I asked softy. “Beneficiary: Future Spouse? Did you think I wouldn’t find it?”
Trevor’s knees buckled. He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He just collapsed, the weight of his own greed finally crushing him. As the officer cuffed him, he looked at me one last time. “Brianna… I… I needed the money.”
“I know,” I said. “And that’s why you lost everything.”
The legal process was swift and brutal.
With the evidence I provided—the bank records, the shell company traces, and the damning insurance policy—Trevor didn’t stand a chance. He was charged with financial crimes and conspiracy. Because the insurance policy indicated premeditation involving a “future spouse,” Kaitlyn was charged as an accomplice.
Denise attempted to intervene, claiming it was all a misunderstanding. She was quietly warned by my lawyers that if she didn’t remain silent, her own involvement in the “wedding” and potential knowledge of the fraud would be investigated. She retreated into seclusion, her social standing in tatters.
I finalized the divorce quietly. I didn’t want a spectacle. I just wanted my name back.
Two years later.
A large banquet hall in New York City hummed with the energy of journalists, lawyers, and social workers. On the stage, the lights were bright, but they didn’t hurt my eyes anymore.
