Chapter 159

Chapter 159
Darren's POV

The sleek black Maybach glided through Boston's streets as I stared out the window, my expression deliberately neutral despite the rage burning inside me. The phone pressed to my ear felt hot against my skin.

"So the secretary got himself into trouble?" The lazy drawl on the other end held a note of amusement. "Did your precious nephew outmaneuver you again?"

"All his guns are pointed at me now while you're hiding away like a coward," I snapped, my patience wearing thin.

"I'm done playing games with him," I continued, checking my watch. "I'm arranging to leave the country immediately."

"You can go," the man said coolly, "but I need that list first. You'll be free and clear overseas while I'm left cleaning up this mess."

"That list might not even exist!" I nearly shouted, my composure slipping. "If I stay here any longer, we're all finished!"

"The list absolutely exists," he insisted. "Not just names but enough evidence to put us all in front of a firing squad. Without it, you won't make it past Boston city limits."

His voice hardened. "You have two choices: either kill Rhett or find the list."

"Are you fucking with me?" I could feel my blood pressure rising. "How many assassination attempts have we made since he returned from Italy? How many have succeeded? I've looked everywhere—the list wasn't with Ophelia, that crazy woman!"

A cold laugh came through the receiver. "Mr. Hayes, you've always been clever. Why are you being so dense now? If Kenneth didn't leave his insurance with his wife or son... what about his daughter-in-law?"

My eyes narrowed. "Sheryl?"

---

Not long after I'd settled into my Vice President's office, the door opened without a knock. I looked up at my nephew, forcing a pleasant smile. "Ah, Rhett. Come in."

"Uncle Darren," Rhett said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "I heard about Secretary Hudson. Who could have imagined he'd commit murder, and be seen by police, no less."

He made himself comfortable on my leather sofa, crossing his long legs with casual elegance. I watched him carefully, noting the predatory gleam in his eyes despite his relaxed posture.

"Yes, quite unexpected," I replied, keeping my tone even. "Just a secretary, though. Easily replaced."

Rhett's smile didn't reach his eyes as he turned his tablet toward me, displaying financial charts. "Uncle, these negative headlines about the company are getting difficult to contain. The stock has dropped half a point in just two days."

For Hayes Enterprise, that half point represented millions of dollars. His meaning was clear—I was falling further behind on the financial targets I'd committed to. Targets we both knew were now impossible to reach.

Our eyes met across the desk, both of us smiling politely while calculating our next moves.

"Looks like I'm being put out to pasture," I said with a forced chuckle. "The new blood is taking over. You've clearly learned to swim with the sharks without your old uncle holding your hand anymore."

Rhett's eyes narrowed slightly, his smile turning dangerous. "I owe much to your guidance, Uncle. I wouldn't be where I am today without you."

I closed the file before me with a decisive snap. "Perhaps it's time I tender my resignation to you."

"No need to trouble yourself with such minor details," Rhett said, standing to place a document on my desk. "I've already prepared your resignation letter. It's even signed."

His smile widened. "You've worked so hard since my father's death. Thank you for your service."

I looked at the resignation letter, then back at my nephew's face. The façade of civility was wearing thin between us.

"You've been waiting for this day for a long time, haven't you, Rhett?"

"Not so long," he replied, his voice soft but deadly. "Just a few years."

Rhett's POV

It was after seven when I arrived home, the night already settled over Boston. The lights of Oakridge Estate glowed warmly against the darkness. I found Sheryl in the living room watching her iPad, dressed in comfortable loungewear that softened her usual sharp edges.

She glanced up when I entered, then without a word stood and walked toward the dining room. I watched her retreating form, feeling a slight easing of the tension in my shoulders. The fact that she'd returned and was willing to share dinner suggested she might be cooling down.

I removed my jacket and followed her into the dining room, where the table was set with dinner and a bottle of decanted red wine. Sheryl sat across from me, smiling as though we hadn't been at each other's throats for days.

I felt my lips curve upward. "Sheryl—"

"How are you feeling today?" she interrupted, still smiling as she poured wine into my glass.

I studied her face, searching for signs of her true mood. "Not bad."

If we could stay like this, things would be good.

"That's nice," she said, her smile unwavering. "I'm feeling pretty good myself."

Then she placed a document and a pen in front of me. "Since we're both in such an amicable mood, would you mind signing this, Mr. Hayes?"

I glanced down at the papers, feeling my expression darken as I read the title. My hands tightened into fists beneath the table.

"Divorce papers?" The words felt like acid on my tongue.

I glared at her, barely containing my fury. "You want me to sign divorce papers?"

Sheryl nodded calmly, maintaining that infuriating smile. "Don't worry, Mr. Hayes. I'm not asking for anything that isn't rightfully mine. This agreement won't cost you a thing."

She gestured toward the document. "Please, take a look. Let me know if anything needs changing."

Her businesslike attitude enraged me. I flipped through the pages, noting how meticulously she'd catalogued our assets—over a dozen pages detailing everything we owned separately. She hadn't claimed a single thing of mine. Everything was perfectly, clinically divided.

So this was what she'd been doing these past two days.

I looked up, meeting her smiling eyes. "Is divorce really necessary? Do we have to go this far?"

"Yes," she said simply, still smiling. "We absolutely do."

My chest heaved with barely controlled rage. I grabbed the divorce papers and tore them to shreds, throwing the pieces across the table.

"Sheryl, enough! You've yelled, we've fought, you've vented. Can we please stop this now?"

"No." Her eyes were cold despite her smile. "Rhett, actions have consequences. I've already endured your lies and deception. How can we stop now?"

She swirled her wine glass casually. "Sign the divorce papers, end this marriage, and we can each go our separate ways. No more connection between us."

The finality in her voice, her eagerness to sever our ties, pushed me over the edge. I stepped forward and gripped her chin, forcing her to look at me.

"Sheryl," I said through clenched teeth, "is marriage just a game to you? Something you can discard whenever you want?"

"What is marriage to you?" she countered, her laugh bitter. "A cover for lies? A playground for manipulation?"

Her red lips moved with cruel precision, each word devoid of warmth. My anger peaked, though I carefully controlled my grip so as not to hurt her.

Sheryl didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.

"I have never played with your feelings," I insisted, each word deliberate. "Not once."

She scoffed. "How can you still say that with a straight face after everything?"

"Rhett," she continued, her tone suddenly reasonable, "our marriage began as a business arrangement without love. Ending it cleanly would be best for everyone, wouldn't it?"

"No!" I rejected the idea immediately. "Get this through your head, Sheryl—I will not sign those papers."

"Fine, that's your choice." She pulled away from my grip and stood. "I can print as many copies as necessary. Sign whenever you're ready."

She shrugged with calculated indifference. "If you insist on staying married, we'll just continue this stalemate."

With that, she turned and walked upstairs, leaving me alone with my rage. I slammed my fist on the dining table hard enough to make the silverware jump.