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Divorcing The CEO: I'll Take Your Empire
img img Divorcing The CEO: I'll Take Your Empire img Chapter 8 8
8 Chapters
Chapter 9 9 img
Chapter 10 10 img
Chapter 11 11 img
Chapter 12 12 img
Chapter 13 13 img
Chapter 14 14 img
Chapter 15 15 img
Chapter 16 16 img
Chapter 17 17 img
Chapter 18 18 img
Chapter 19 19 img
Chapter 20 20 img
Chapter 21 21 img
Chapter 22 22 img
Chapter 23 23 img
Chapter 24 24 img
Chapter 25 25 img
Chapter 26 26 img
Chapter 27 27 img
Chapter 28 28 img
Chapter 29 29 img
Chapter 30 30 img
Chapter 31 31 img
Chapter 32 32 img
Chapter 33 33 img
Chapter 34 34 img
Chapter 35 35 img
Chapter 36 36 img
Chapter 37 37 img
Chapter 38 38 img
Chapter 39 39 img
Chapter 40 40 img
Chapter 41 41 img
Chapter 42 42 img
Chapter 43 43 img
Chapter 44 44 img
Chapter 45 45 img
Chapter 46 46 img
Chapter 47 47 img
Chapter 48 48 img
Chapter 49 49 img
Chapter 50 50 img
Chapter 51 51 img
Chapter 52 52 img
Chapter 53 53 img
Chapter 54 54 img
Chapter 55 55 img
Chapter 56 56 img
Chapter 57 57 img
Chapter 58 58 img
Chapter 59 59 img
Chapter 60 60 img
Chapter 61 61 img
Chapter 62 62 img
Chapter 63 63 img
Chapter 64 64 img
Chapter 65 65 img
Chapter 66 66 img
Chapter 67 67 img
Chapter 68 68 img
Chapter 69 69 img
Chapter 70 70 img
Chapter 71 71 img
Chapter 72 72 img
Chapter 73 73 img
Chapter 74 74 img
Chapter 75 75 img
Chapter 76 76 img
Chapter 77 77 img
Chapter 78 78 img
Chapter 79 79 img
Chapter 80 80 img
Chapter 81 81 img
Chapter 82 82 img
Chapter 83 83 img
Chapter 84 84 img
Chapter 85 85 img
Chapter 86 86 img
Chapter 87 87 img
Chapter 88 88 img
Chapter 89 89 img
Chapter 90 90 img
Chapter 91 91 img
Chapter 92 92 img
Chapter 93 93 img
Chapter 94 94 img
Chapter 95 95 img
Chapter 96 96 img
Chapter 97 97 img
Chapter 98 98 img
Chapter 99 99 img
Chapter 100 100 img
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Chapter 8 8

Cash stormed into his office on the 40th floor. He threw the crumpled bag of fries into the trash can so hard it dented the metal mesh.

He felt dirty. He felt foolish.

His phone pinged. An email from Isidora's lawyer. Demand for Asset Disclosure.

"Gavin!" Cash yelled.

Gavin appeared, looking terrified.

"Freeze everything," Cash said. "I want a total blockade. The joint accounts, the supplementary cards, the grocery money. Everything."

"Sir," the CFO spoke up from the corner of the room. "That could be seen as financial abuse in court. The judge will-"

"I don't care!" Cash slammed his hand on the desk. "She wants to play games with lunch? Let's see how she eats when she can't buy food. Do it."

Two hours later, Isidora stood in the checkout line at a bodega in Bushwick. She had toothpaste, ramen, and a bottle of cheap wine on the counter.

She swiped her card.

Beep. Declined.

She frowned. She tried the other one. The emergency backup.

Beep. Declined.

The cashier sighed loudly. "Lady, you got money or not?"

The line behind her shuffled impatiently. A man groaned. "Come on, move it."

Isidora felt the heat rise up her neck. It was a specific kind of shame-the shame of poverty she thought she had escaped forever.

"My mistake," she said calmly, pulling a twenty from her wallet. She paid for the toothpaste and left the rest on the counter.

She walked out of the store. The bell on the door jingled cheerfully, mocking her.

She walked back to the loft. Her stomach growled.

"He cut me off," she told Harper as she walked in.

"That prick," Harper said. "Here, take my card."

"No." Isidora sat down at the burner laptop. Her eyes were dark holes. "He wants to starve me? Fine. I'm going to eat his lunch."

She opened a secure, encrypted email client. She attached the PDF file she had spent the last three nights perfecting.

Subject: Project Icarus - Short Report on Ferguson Tech.

Summary: Revenue recognition irregularities. Undisclosed related-party transactions. The Emperor has no clothes.

She sent the file to the anonymous tip lines for three of Wall Street's most feared financial journalists. Then, she activated a script. A network of burner social media accounts began seeding keywords related to the report on Twitter, creating a digital breadcrumb trail for the algorithms to follow.

She hit Enter.

That evening, Cash was at Chante's apartment.

Chante was standing in front of the mirror, holding the emerald brooch against her chest.

"It's a bit... old fashioned, isn't it?" she complained, wrinkling her nose. "I wanted the diamond choker."

Cash wasn't listening. He was staring at his phone.

"Sir!" Gavin burst into the room without knocking. He was holding a tablet. "The stock. After-hours trading."

Cash grabbed the tablet.

A red line plummeted down the screen like a falling knife.

Ferguson Tech down 12% in after-hours trading following anonymous short report.

Cash read the report. His eyes scanned the data. It was precise. It was forensic. It cited obscure accounting footnotes that only an expert would notice.

Author: Nemesis.

"Who wrote this?" Cash whispered. The blood drained from his face. "This... this is Isidora's work. The precision... it's her signature."

He thought of her quiet competence, the way she dissected financial statements for sport. "That conniving little lawyer," he muttered. "She has the guts after all."

"It's viral, sir," Gavin said. "Twitter is blowing up."

"Get PR on the line," Cash shouted. "Deny everything!"

In the loft, Isidora watched the red line drop.

It was beautiful. It was the color of vengeance.

Her phone rang. It wasn't Cash.

It was Frank Tate. Her foster father.

She answered. "Frank?"

"What the hell did you do?" Frank screamed. "My card was declined at the club! The waiter cut it in half in front of everyone!"

"Cash cut me off, Frank," Isidora said tiredly. "I told you."

"You fix this!" Frank roared. "You get back in that house and you apologize! I have bills, Isidora! You owe us!"

Isidora closed her eyes. The war was fighting on two fronts now.

"I can't," she said.

"Then come here," Frank said, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. "We need to talk. Now."

Isidora looked at the red line on the screen. She had drawn blood. But now the sharks were circling.

"I'm coming," she said.

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