Chapter 5

I didn't move to close the meeting.

I stood up and looked at the man whose colour had drained to chalk across the table.

"Spencer. I have some accounts to settle."

The room went quiet.

"The Rolls-Royce you drive — the purchase invoice is in my name."

"The estate you've been living in — the title register says mine."

"Every card you've been using for three years — every single one, backed by Davenport Capital."

I let that breathe.

"Your first bespoke suit — I took you to get it. Your first investor meeting — I made the introduction. The cufflinks you wore when CaldwellTech listed — I had them made for you in Paris."

"And yet you told me I was living off you. That I was nothing without you."

I held his gaze.

"So I've come here today to ask you one question. In front of everyone in this room."

"For three years. Which one of us was actually carrying the other?"

Six seconds of silence.

No one spoke.

Vivienne had at some point retreated to a folding chair in the corner. She was white.

Spencer's lips were trembling.

His throat moved. Three times. Finally: "Mara... let me explain—"

I cut him off.

"Spencer. You made a promise at my father's grave. You said I was the only one. You said you'd stand by me through everything."

"I believed you. So I gave you every resource, every connection, every pound Davenport Capital had."

"Now I'm taking it back. All of it. With interest."

I turned to Vivienne.

"And you — don't hide. You used corporate accounts for luxury goods. I've printed every receipt."

Vivienne's lips went white. Her hands shook.

My assistant walked to the projector and changed the slide.

Third document: CaldwellTech financial irregularities report.

Nine related-party transactions totalling £1.2 million, routed through a shell company under Spencer's control.

Corporate card expenditure — luxury goods, five-star hotels, cosmetic procedures for Vivienne — total: £280,000. Every receipt bearing Spencer's signature.

And deeper still: Spencer had used the shell company to sign below-market supply contracts with three vendors, extracting kickbacks totalling approximately £3 million.

My assistant added one final line: "All materials have been submitted to the Financial Conduct Authority and the Metropolitan Police Financial Crimes Unit."

Spencer's colour drained inch by inch.

He went from kneeling to simply sitting on the floor.

"Mara... you can't do this... you're pushing me off a cliff... let's talk, we can work this out—"

I bent down to his level. Close.

"Spencer. Do you remember freezing my cards in that ballroom and letting me stand there humiliated?"

"Do you remember telling me to get on my knees and apologise to Vivienne at our front door?"

"Do you remember the slap?"

"I wanted to talk then too. But you didn't give me the chance."

I straightened up.

"So now you don't get one either."

Spencer lunged for Vivienne. "Tell her it was all your fault. Tell her you made me do it—"

Vivienne was already backing toward the exit.

The way she looked at Spencer had shifted — from dependence to something colder.

I had someone stop her.

"Miss Cross. Academic fraud on entry to a listed company. Complicity in false expense claims of material value." I met her eyes. "You're not going anywhere either."

Vivienne collapsed. The sobs were real this time.

"Ms. Davenport, it was Spencer — he told me to, he signed everything off, I didn't know what I was doing—"

Spencer snapped. "Vivienne, you liar—"

"You're the liar!" She was screaming now, past caring. "You said you'd marry me! You said you were done with her! You gave me those bags and told me you'd stopped loving her years ago—"

"Shut up!" Spencer was on his feet.

"Why should I?" She was shaking. "Who do you think you are? I know about the supplier. I know about the three dinners. I know what happened after each one. Did you think I was blind?"

Several independent directors looked at each other.

Spencer grabbed a glass from the table and threw it.

It missed.

Water across the floor.

Security came in and separated them.

Vivienne was pressed against the wall, still shouting. "Spencer, say it didn't happen. Say it in front of everyone. Go on."

Spencer was being held by two guards, face the colour of raw liver.

I had been in the chairman's seat from beginning to end. Still.

When the noise finally died and the room settled:

"Spencer," I said. "Three years ago, my father invested in you. He helped an ordinary engineer become the CEO of a listed company."

"He did it because I said one thing to him."

"Dad. I love him."

Spencer went rigid.

"I'm taking that back now. Everything you took — return it. Principal and interest."

I set the divorce papers on the table.

Already signed. My name at the bottom.

"Sign it. You were the one who brought it up. I'm granting it."

Spencer didn't sign.

He was on the floor, refusing to get up, repeating I was wrong and give me another chance.

I had run out of patience.

I stood up and walked out of the boardroom.