Chapter 113: I Don't Want My Ex-wife Back

Knox

I sit behind my desk in the morning, and I am looking at Mr. Carter on the opposite side of the desk from me.

Light from the sun, beams through the open blinds to the tile floor.

I always feel like my office is a fortress, but now it seems like I’m trapped in a cage. I lean forward on the shiny mahogany with my elbows and make an effort to keep my voice down.

“Mr. Carter, just listen to me,” I say. "I can replace the twenty-five million that Monica put in. Immediately. If possible, by wire transfer today. Just go back to the board. Tell them I'll take care of it. Tell them this is still my company."

He doesn’t even bat an eye. He just slowly shakes his head like he’s already made up his mind. “Knox, the decision has been made. Documents signed, and votes counted. The board wants her as a partner. There's nothing I can do.”

My knuckles are white as my fingers grip the edge of the desk. “So they want her? After one damn presentation? They didn't even call me."

He sighs. “We did our due diligence. Full background check. Financials, legal history, business associations, personal records, everything was clean, no mention of any criminal record. Monica Lewinsky is not a threat. She’s solid.”

Not a threat. The words hit like a slap. I look at him as anger rises to my face. This is­ a man who’s been working under me for years, and he sits there defending her as if she was some saint.

“Why are you so worked up about this?” he asks, cocking his head slightly. There’s actual surprise in his eyes, and that makes it worse.

I make my jaw relax just long enough to talk. “Fine. But listen closely. Starting from now, there should be a highlight on every email, memo, report, or a single piece of paper and every digital document that includes the name, Monica Lewinsky. I must see it first before approval.”

He rises, smooths the front of his jacket as he always does, and looks at me one last time. “You have nothing to fear, Knox. She’s a good investor. The board knows her value. You’ll see it too, in time.”

He walks out. The door closes quietly.

The second he’s out, I punch the desk. The blow rattles the pen cup and sends a sudden ache up my arm.

I don’t care. Pain is better than the feeling of impotent rage gnawing inside my chest. I grab my phone, searching for Ben's number, and dial before I can change my mind.

Ben’s been in the force for fifteen years. He can see where others can't or won’t. If there's anything on Monica, any hint of dirt, he will find it.

It rings for a few minutes. At last, he responds. “Hello?”

“Ben. It’s Knox. Been a while.”

A brief chuckle erupts in the speaker. “Well, now, look who decided to call. What’s the occasion, big man? Are you in trouble or starting it?”

I exhale deeply. “I’ve been swamped with work. Look, I need a favor. A thorough investigation on someone.”

He whistles low. “Alright. Name?”

“Monica Lewinsky. The investor who just bought into my company. I need everything. Old deals, hidden accounts, ex-partners, anything that smells even slightly off.”

“Send me the full details, date of birth if you have it, company name, known addresses, social handles, whatever you’ve got. I’ll start digging tonight.”

“Thanks, Ben. I owe you.”

“You always do,” he says, and the line goes dead.

I hang up the phone, and I lean back. My heart is still pounding. Frustration settles in my stomach like a rock. I’ll run her through like a freight train if I have to.

She thinks she can waltz in here, flash her money, smile at my board, and saunter off with pieces of what I built? No. This is as far as she gets.

I open up my laptop, and bring up the end stage of the product launch. Spreadsheets dominate the screen, revenue projections, marketing timetables, supplier contracts, and the results of beta tests.

This product launch is everything.

But whenever I look at a figure, her face flashes in my mind. The easy way she responded to questions in the boardroom. The small, knowing smile she gave me when our gazes locked. Like she already knew she had won.

My pulse spikes again. I press my fingers to my temple, attempting to shove the thoughts out of my mind.

I imagine the next step. Ben calls back in a few days with a file. Maybe it’s nothing more than a tiny bit of trouble, a shady loan from years ago, or a business partner who went to prison.

Doesn’t have to be huge. Just enough to shake the board. I’ll print it, I’ll highlight the roughest bits, I’ll waltz in the next meeting and I’ll show it to them.

They will see her for what she is, and they will wish they never opened that door.

Then she’s gone. Out of my building. Out of my future.

I force my eyes back to the screen. One line at a time. Looking at the numbers. The product is good. The market is ready. This launch is going to be huge if I can just keep my head straight.

But the rage won’t leave. It’s humming beneath my skin, steady and hot. Each press of the mouse feels like a strain.

I rise and go to the window. Downtown, the city lies below, cars inching through traffic, and buildings gleaming in the morning light.

She doesn’t belong here.

I turn back to the desk, grab my phone again, and start a new message to Ben. I write down all I know about her. Afterall she's my ex wife. I wrote full name, size of investment, the name of her holding company, and whatever little I know of her while our marriage lasted.

I press send.

Monica Lewinsky thinks she’s clever. She thinks money buys her a seat at my table.

She’s wrong.

I’ll prove it.