Russell Crane stepped out, carrying a thick leather folio under his arm. He gave me a brief, cold nod before walking toward the elevators.
I stood up and walked past the empty assistant’s desk straight into Adrian’s office.
He was sitting behind his mahogany desk, signing his name on three copies of a blue document.
On the corner of the desk sat his silver keychain, the one shaped like the original transit logo we designed on our kitchen table.
“What about our joint savings, Adrian?” I asked, keeping my voice soft and slow.
He checked his gold watch, then set his gold pen down. “There are no joint savings, Mrs. Lane. The company accounts are corporate property.”
“We built this company together,” I said. “We both know who built this family, Adrian.”
“The court will look at the active registration,” Adrian said, his voice booming with that practiced corporate confidence he used at the annual dinners. “And you will leave this marriage with exactly what you brought into it. Nothing.”
He did not know I still held the original charter, the one from twelve years ago that listed my maiden name as the sole owner.
