Chapter 5 - The First Fall of the Gavel
The parking lot of Churchill Downs was chaotic,
filled with expensive cars and wealthy patrons,
but Preston and Sloane stood in a quiet corner,
surrounded by their own shame.
Preston’s phone was ringing constantly,
with alerts from the board members,
investors,
and friends who had witnessed their eviction.
He ignored the calls,
his hands shaking as he tried to light a cigarette,
his eyes darting around the lot.
Vivian appeared from the VIP exit,
walking with a slow,
stately grace,
her black gloves perfectly matching her tailored dress.
She did not look at him as she walked toward her silver town car,
where her driver,
Arthur,
was waiting with the door open.
Vivian,
Preston yelled,
running toward her,
his composure completely gone,
what the hell is the meaning of this?
Vivian stopped,
turning slowly to face him,
her expression as cold and smooth as polished marble.
It is very simple,
Preston,
she said,
her voice carrying clearly over the distant roar of the crowd,
you are no longer welcome in my box,
in my office,
or in my life.
You can’t do this,
he hissed,
stepping closer,
his voice dropping to a harsh whisper,
I have partners,
I have contracts,
and half of that trust belongs to me by marriage.
Vivian smiled,
a small,
pitying look that made Preston’s blood run cold,
and she reached into her bag.
She pulled out a copy of their prenuptial agreement,
the one Preston had signed without reading carefully,
believing he could easily bypass it.
Clause nine,
she said,
pointing to a highlighted section of the document,
explicitly states that any infidelity,
or financial misconduct,
immediately voids your right to any family assets.
Preston stared at the paper,
his mind racing as he remembered signing it,
believing at the time that Vivian was too submissive to ever enforce it.
I have the accounts,
he muttered,
trying to bluff,
I moved the money,
and you’ll never see a dime of it if you try to ruin me.
Vivian took a step closer,
her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him flinch,
and her voice became dangerously quiet.
The accounts have been frozen,
Preston,
she whispered,
the FBI was notified of your offshore shell companies three hours ago,
and they are currently executing a search warrant at your private office.
Preston’s cigarette fell from his fingers,
landing on the asphalt,
as the full reality of his situation began to sink in.
Sloane,
who had been standing a few feet away,
let out a small gasp,
her hand flying to her mouth in terror.
Vivian looked at her,
her gaze resting on the pale ivory hat,
before returning her eyes to her husband.
Tradition didn't choose someone prettier,
Preston,
she said softly,
tradition chose someone smarter,
and now,
you have nothing.
She turned and stepped into the town car,
the door closing with a solid,
May you like
final click,
leaving them alone in the dust of the parking lot.
