Chapter 4 - THE ARCHITECT’S TRAP
Daniel stared at the papers in his hands, his breath ragged. “Embezzlement?! Eleanor, this is ridiculous! I’m her husband! We shared those accounts!”
“You shared them for household expenses, Daniel,” Eleanor replied coldly, pulling a tablet from her leather briefcase. “Not to pay forty-eight thousand dollars in private residential rent in Brooklyn for Miss Chloe Vance over the last twelve months.”
Daniel turned his panicked gaze onto Natalie. “Natalie, look at me! Please! Chloe was... it was a mistake! It started last year when her brother’s firm went under! She was broke, she was alone—”
“She was pregnant with your child, Daniel,” Natalie interrupted softly, her voice cutting through his panic like a scalpel. “And you let me pay for her prenatal care while telling me you were working late at the studio.”
“I didn't know how to tell you!” Daniel cried out, stepping toward her, his hands waving wildly. “You were always in the operating room! You were always busy with surgeries! I felt like I didn't even have a wife anymore!”
Natalie didn't raise her voice. She didn't flinch. She simply looked at him, letting his blame drift off her like rain off glass.
“You didn't have a wife who would let you lie to her face, Daniel,” Natalie said. “And now you don't have a firm.”
Daniel’s expression froze. “What did you say?”
Eleanor tapped her tablet screen. “At 4:30 PM today, Dr. Harper exercised her right as seventy percent shareholder of Hale & Associates Architectural Studio. The commercial lease for your studio on 5th Avenue—which was secured under Dr. Harper’s personal credit line—has been terminated. The locks are being changed as we speak.”
“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” Daniel roared, his face flushed red with sudden, ugly fury. “That studio is my life’s work! I have six client presentations this week! My lead investor from Rome is meeting me on Friday!”
“Your lead investor from Rome was flying in on the ticket you bought using our joint account,” Natalie stated smoothly. “A ticket that has now been canceled and refunded to my personal checking line.”
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Daniel stumbled back against the wall, clutching the eviction papers to his chest. His knees looked like they were going to buckle. In less than four hours, his apartment, his firm, his credit lines, and his high-society standing had been systematically dismantled without a single voice being raised.
“Take your bags, Daniel,” Natalie said, pointing toward the front door where the two security guards stood waiting. “Your daughter needs a father. And you’re going to have to learn how to pay for her yourself.”
