Chapter 8

Archer sat down in his leather chair and took a long drag of his cigar.

"To kill the rumors of a family civil war, we need a gesture of good faith," Archer said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. He looked at Bridget. "You are going to step down as the PR Director of Cline Medical."

Jayson sat up straight, his eyes lighting up. "Golda has experience in non-profits. She has a very gentle public image. She would be perfect to take over the department."

Bridget jerked her head up. She forced her eyes to widen in mock horror. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, forcing tears to well up in her eyes.

"I built that department for three years!" Bridget cried out, her voice cracking perfectly. "You're giving it to the woman who ruined my marriage?"

Archer rolled his eyes. "It's a vanity title, Bridget. Stop whining."

"You can keep the VP title," Jayson offered with a condescending smile. "You just don't have to come into the office anymore. Stay home. Go shopping."

Bridget dropped her face into her hands. Her shoulders shook violently. She let out a pathetic, broken sob.

The room was silent for a full minute, save for her fake crying.

Suddenly, Bridget dropped her hands. The tears were still on her cheeks, but her eyes were dead.

She locked eyes with Jayson. "I'll give the bitch my office. But I want compensation."

Jayson chuckled, thinking she was about to ask for a yacht. "Name your price."

"One hundred million dollars," Bridget said evenly. "Cash. Transferred from your personal equity account today."

Jayson shot up from the sofa. "Are you out of your fucking mind? A hundred million?"

Archer frowned deeply. "Bridget, that's absurd."

Bridget reached into her bag. She pulled out a thick manila folder and slammed it onto Archer's mahogany desk.

"This is a folder of documents I found while cleaning out my home office," Bridget lied, tapping the folder. "I have no idea what all these red adjustment marks mean, but my lawyer took one look and said the Wall Street Journal would have a field day with them. If I don't see the money in my account by noon, I'm having him hand-deliver it to their editors."

Jayson's face turned the color of chalk.

"I will hand it directly to the SEC," Bridget continued, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Let's see if you can ring the bell with a federal fraud investigation hanging over your neck."

Archer stared at the folder. He looked at Jayson. The math was simple. A hundred million in cash would hurt, but a halted IPO would cost them billions.

Archer gave Jayson a single, sharp nod. Pay her.

Jayson looked like he was going to vomit. He glared at Bridget with pure hatred.

Bridget leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and slid a piece of paper across the desk. It had the routing number for an offshore Swiss bank account.

"Transfer the money, Jayson," Bridget smiled sweetly. "Isn't your white swan worth it?"

Jayson pulled his laptop from his briefcase. His hands shook with rage as he plugged in his banking security key. He typed furiously, authorizing the massive liquidation and transfer.

Ten minutes later, Bridget's phone chimed.

$100,000,000.00 USD - Deposit Confirmed.

Bridget stood up. She picked up the manila folder and tossed it into the trash can. It was filled with blank printer paper.

"Pleasure doing business," Bridget said. She turned and walked out the door.

That night, for the first time in four years, Bridget slept in a bed of her own making, without dreaming of the man who had broken her.