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Chapter 813:
The jealousy was a physical thing. It crawled up Cole’s throat and lodged there, a stone he could neither swallow nor spit out. But beneath it, deeper and more corrosive, was the knowledge that he had no right to feel it.
She had never been his.
Not for a single day of their three-year marriage.
Cole’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. The leather creaked. He watched the window until his eyes burned, until the rain slowed to a drizzle, until the gray dawn began to stain the Manhattan skyline.
The light in June’s apartment went out.
уo𝘂𝗋 dai𝗅𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝗌𝖾 𝘰𝘧 ոо𝘷𝗲ls о𝗻.с𝗼𝗆
Cole’s dry eyes finally produced tears. They slid down his cheeks, hot and shameful, cutting paths through the grime. She was gone. She was really, truly gone.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his encrypted phone. The screen’s glow was blinding in the gray morning. He dialed his chief assistant’s emergency line.
The man answered on the second ring, his voice thick with sleep. “Mr. Compton p>
“Wake up the entire legal department.” Cole’s voice sounded as though it had been dragged across broken glass. “I need a property transfer addendum drafted immediately p>
“Sir, it’s six in the morning p>
“Unconditional transfer.” Cole cut him off. “My entire share of the Compton Family Trust. Fifty percent of all voting and non-voting interests. The Fifth Avenue penthouse, complete contents, art collection. All of it p>
The assistant’s breath hitched. “Mr. Compton, that’s… that’s over twelve billion dollars in core assets. Your controlling stake p>
“Do it p>
Cole closed his eyes. The tears kept coming, silent and relentless. “No restrictions. No contingencies. No clawback provisions. She gets everything, or I fire every single one of you and find lawyers who can make it happen p>
He knew it was useless. He knew June would look at the numbers and see only blood money — only the price of her suffering. She would not be moved. She would not forgive.
But it was all he had. The only currency left in his bankrupt soul.
“Have it at Hahn’s offices by eight.” Cole disconnected.
He started the engine. The Maybach purred to life with a wounded animal’s low growl. He did not go home to change. He did not call his grandmother, his board, or his therapist.
He drove downtown with the wet copy of the divorce papers still pressed against his chest, heading toward the final execution of everything he had built — and destroyed.
The conference room at Hahn & Associates smelled of lemon oil and old money.
Easton Hahn sat with his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the morning light casting his dark suit into a silhouette of absolute authority. His Montblanc pen lay precisely parallel to the edge of the mahogany table. He had not touched it since Cole’s arrival.
June sat to Easton’s right. She wore a cream-colored pantsuit that made her look like a blade wrapped in silk. Her hair was pulled back in a severe knot, and her hands rested flat on the table, perfectly motionless.