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Handing Him Eviction Papers at Our Wedding Altar Novel Cover

Handing Him Eviction Papers at Our Wedding Altar

I spent three years building a company with the man I was about to marry. Julian spent three years planning to steal it. He announced our breakup at the altar — microphone in hand, his mistress already waiting in a white dress — expecting tears, a settlement offer, and a quiet exit. Instead, I handed him an appendix he'd signed without reading. One clause. One sentence. In the event of public infidelity, the offending party forfeits all majority protections. He declared his infidelity in front of five hundred witnesses. Within ten minutes, he owned zero percent of Vance Tech. Within an hour, his penthouse access was revoked, his legal team had transferred to me, and his boxes were stacked by the loading dock next to the dumpsters. By evening, he was bleeding on shatterproof glass, begging to be let back in from the rain. I gave him a thumbs-down through the door. Then Julian's brother walked into my office — colder, sharper, and infinitely more dangerous. Silas Sterling dropped a file on my desk that would finish Julian for good. The price: forty percent of the recovered assets, and the answer to a question I'd stopped asking five years ago. My father's signature was on the last page. A man I buried. Signed yesterday. What did Julian know about my father's disappearance? What does Silas? And why does the brother of my worst enemy feel like the only person in the room who's been telling me the truth?
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Chapter 6

"Your access is gone, Julian," I said, tapping the tablet resting on the glass surface.

The projector screen shifted. The failed wire transfer vanished. A massive spreadsheet replaced it.

Sixteen corporate credit card numbers lined the screen. Next to each row, a bold red word flashed.

*FROZEN.*

Julian stared at the list. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"My travel accounts," he finally whispered.

"Canceled," I replied.

"The entertainment budget."

"Suspended."

"You cannot do this!" Julian yelled, slamming his palms flat against the table. "I have client dinners tonight! I have vendors to pay!"

"You have a tab at the hotel bar," I corrected. "And you will pay it with your own money."

"I do not have any money!"

"A tragic oversight on your part."

The older board member let out a harsh laugh. "You really thought you could siphon fourteen million dollars and keep your corporate card?"

Julian shot a venomous glare at the man. "Shut up, Walter. This is between me and Harper."

"This is between you and the authorities," Walter countered.

Julian turned back to me. "Unfreeze the primary black card. Just until Friday."

"No."

"I need to book a flight!"

"Take a bus."

"Harper, be reasonable. I am still a shareholder."

"You own two percent," I reminded him. "That buys you a cup of coffee in the lobby. Not a private jet."

Julian ran a hand through his hair. He paced a tight circle near the metal trash can. "I will sign over my two percent. Right now. Just give me the black card."

"Your shares are already tied up in the embezzlement investigation," I said. "You have nothing to trade."

"I will destroy you for this," he threatened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"You failed to destroy me when you had the chance."

A sharp thud echoed from the hallway outside. Someone was arguing with the security guards.

The heavy mahogany doors slammed open.

Chloe marched into the boardroom.

She wore a designer silk blouse and tight white trousers. Her face was flushed dark red.

"Julian!" she shrieked.

Every board member turned to look at her.

Chloe ignored them. She walked straight to the center of the room. She reached into her pocket and pulled out three black credit cards.

She threw them onto the glass table. They scattered, sliding toward my tablet.

"Declined!" Chloe yelled.

Julian rushed toward her. "Keep your voice down."

"Do not shush me!" she snapped. "The boutique laughed in my face. My spa rejected the payment. The valet wouldn't even take the card for the tip!"

"We will handle this at home," Julian hissed, grabbing her elbow.

Chloe ripped her arm away. "What is going on? Why are they cut off?"

"Because they belong to Vance Tech," I answered.

Chloe spun to face me. "You."

"Me," I agreed.

She pointed a manicured finger at my chest. "You spiteful, jealous bitch. You shut off my accounts."

"I shut off my accounts," I corrected. "You were just enjoying the stolen funds."

Chloe dropped her orange Birkin bag. It hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud.

"Julian," she demanded, turning back to him. "Fix this. Call the bank."

"I cannot do that," he muttered.

"What do you mean you cannot? You are the CEO!"

"He is unemployed," I said.

Chloe blinked. She looked from me to Julian. "Tell her she is lying."

Julian looked away. He stared at the shattered coffee mug in the trash can.

"Julian!" Chloe shrieked.

"David," I called out, keeping my eyes on the pathetic couple.

My assistant stepped forward from the corner of the room. "Yes, Ms. Quinn?"

"Call the police."

David pulled out his phone instantly.

"Tell them we have trespassers causing a disturbance," I instructed.

"On it," David said, dialing the numbers.

Chloe's eyes widened. "You cannot arrest me! I am going to be his wife!"

"You can share a jail cell," I suggested.

Chloe lunged at Julian. She grabbed the lapels of his ruined suit jacket.

"You promised me!" she screamed, shaking him violently. "You said you handled her! You promised me the money was safe!"

"Release me," Julian ordered, grabbing her wrists.

"You ruined my shopping trip!" Chloe wailed. "You humiliated me in front of the stylist!"

"You spent eighty thousand dollars in two days!" Julian yelled back. "You drained the backup accounts!"

"You told me to!" Chloe screamed.

"I said stop!"

Julian shoved her.

He pushed hard. Too hard.

Chloe's expensive shoes slipped on the polished floor. She flew backward.

Her hip slammed directly into the sharp edge of the glass conference table.

A sickening crack echoed through the silent boardroom.

Chloe gasped. Her eyes rolled back for a fraction of a second. She collapsed to the floor.

She curled into a tight ball, clutching her stomach.

"Ah!" she wailed, tears instantly flooding her face. "My stomach!"

Julian froze. He stared at his trembling hands.

"I didn't mean to," he stammered, backing away from her. "She attacked me."

No one in the room moved to help her.

I picked up my glass of ice water. I took a slow sip. The freezing liquid coated my throat. It pushed down the sudden wave of nausea twisting in my gut.

Watching them tear each other apart offered zero joy. It just felt pathetic.

"Julian," Chloe sobbed, pressing both hands against her abdomen. "Help me up."

Julian took another step back. "I refuse. If I touch you, she will say it was assault."

"You pushed me!"

"You grabbed my neck!"

"I am bleeding!" Chloe cried out.

"You are faking it," Julian accused. "Just to make me look bad in front of the board."

Red and blue lights flashed against the glass of the high-rise windows. The wail of a siren cut through the silent room, growing louder by the second.

"They are here," David announced, lowering his phone.

"Good," I said.

Julian panicked. He looked at the exit, then at the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"I am leaving," Julian decided.

"Sit down," Walter commanded from the end of the table. "Or I will tackle you myself."

Julian glared at the older man, but he didn't move toward the door.

The heavy mahogany doors swung open.

Three uniformed police officers marched into the boardroom. Their heavy duty belts clinked in the quiet space.

"Who called it in?" the lead officer asked. His eyes swept over the shattered coffee mug, the scattered credit cards, and Chloe sobbing on the floor.

"I did," I answered.

The officer nodded. He unclipped the metal handcuffs from his belt.

Julian raised his hands instantly. "She attacked me first! I was defending myself!"

The officer ignored him.

He bypassed Julian entirely. He walked straight past the head of the table.

He stopped right next to Chloe.

She remained curled on the floor, her hands desperately clutching her stomach.

She looked up, her face streaked with mascara. "Arrest him! He pushed me!"

The officer stared down at her. He held the steel cuffs ready.

"Chloe Mercer," the officer stated, his voice completely flat. "You are under arrest."

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