Chapter 3 - Severing the Financial Lifelines
The condo was quiet,
exactly the way I had left it before the wedding chaos ensued.
I walked straight to the bathroom,
turning on the cold water,
soaking a washcloth to press against my swollen face.
The coldness numbed the physical pain,
but my mind was racing with absolute clarity.
Preston thought he had won because he had successfully intimidated me in front of his parents.
He truly believed that because we signed a marriage certificate,
my identity was erased.
I walked over to my desk,
opening my laptop,
the bright screen illuminating the dim room.
First,
I opened my banking application,
logging into my primary accounts with my fingerprint.
The American Express Platinum card that Preston carried was an authorized user card on my account.
He loved the weight of the metal card,
loved the respect it garnered when he threw it down at business dinners.
With three swift clicks,
I reported his card as lost and permanently deactivated his access.
Next,
I checked the shared account we had opened for wedding expenses.
There was still fifty thousand dollars sitting in it,
mostly wedding gifts from my extended family.
I transferred every single penny into my private checking account,
leaving the balance at zero.
I then opened my email,
finding the contact information for my family's estate attorney,
Arthur Vance.
Arthur had been managing my father’s business affairs for three decades,
a man who knew how to dismantle financial empires with a pen.
I drafted a short,
concise email to him,
attaching a photo of the bruise on my face.
"Arthur,
I need a divorce lawyer immediately,
and I need an emergency post-nuptial or asset protection order,"
I wrote.
"Preston assaulted me this morning,
and I am terminating all financial ties effective immediately."
I hit send,
feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline course through my veins.
Preston’s entire lifestyle was an illusion built on my credit lines.
His marketing firm was struggling,
floundering under the weight of his poor decisions and excessive spending.
He had been using my income to pay his office rent and project overhead for months.
Without my financial backing,
his carefully constructed facade would crumble within days.
My phone buzzed again,
a text message from Preston lighting up the screen.
"You made a scene,
Maya,"
the message read.
"My mother expects an apology by noon,
do not make this worse for yourself."
I stared at the text,
a cold smile forming on my lips despite the pain in my cheek.
He truly had no idea that the ground beneath his feet had already liquefied.
He was still acting like the king of a castle that I owned.
I placed the phone face down on the desk,
refusing to grant him the satisfaction of a response.
May you like
The game had officially begun,
and he was playing without any pieces left on the board.
