Chapter 7 - THE DEED TO THE FIRM
The interior of the Romano mansion was surprisingly quiet, far removed from the chaos of the city outside.
Sebastian led me into a massive library lined with dark wood and thousands of books. A fire crackled in the hearth, offering the first real warmth I’d felt all night.
“Sit,” Sebastian commanded gently, pointing to a leather armchair near the fire.
I sank into the chair, exhausted but entirely wired on adrenaline.
Daniel walked in ten minutes later, followed by two sharp-looking men in tailored suits—Sebastian’s corporate lawyers. They spread a series of thick legal documents across the mahogany coffee table.
“The firm, Tate Architecture, was founded twelve years ago,” the lead lawyer explained, adjusting his glasses. “The initial capital was provided entirely by Mrs. Romano, using her inheritance.”
I nodded. “I gave Graham two million dollars to start the firm. But he structured the incorporation. He holds fifty-one percent of the voting shares. I only hold forty-nine. I can’t make executive decisions.”
Sebastian leaned against the mantelpiece.
“You couldn't make executive decisions yesterday,” Sebastian corrected. “But Graham made a fatal error when he filed the emergency conservatorship injunction tonight.”
The lawyer slid a document toward me.
“When Mr. Tate filed to have you declared mentally incompetent, he cited a clause in the firm’s bylaws regarding leadership continuity,” the lawyer said. “The clause states that if a majority shareholder is incapacitated or involved in criminal malfeasance, their shares are immediately placed into a blind trust controlled by the secondary shareholder.”
My eyes widened. “He was trying to use that to take my shares if he couldn't get me committed.”
“Exactly,” Sebastian smiled coldly. “But because you signed the annulment and our marriage license before midnight, his conservatorship claim is void. You are legally competent.”
“Okay,” I frowned. “But he still has fifty-one percent.”
“Not anymore,” Sebastian said.
He pulled out the broken silver pocket watch and placed it on the table next to the documents.
“My brother Dominic was investigating Marcus Vance three years ago. But Dominic wasn't just a kid looking for trouble. He was a brilliant forensic accountant. He hacked into Graham’s servers before he was killed.”
Sebastian looked at Daniel.
“Play it.”
Daniel pulled out a tablet and tapped the screen. An audio file began to play.
It was a recording of a phone call. The voices were clear.
"The money is washed, Vance," Graham’s voice echoed in the library. "The stadium accounts are clean. I’m transferring your fifty percent to the offshore shell."
"And the kid?" Marcus Vance’s gravelly voice asked. "The Romano kid who’s been asking questions?"
"Handled," Graham replied coldly. "He had a photograph of us. I took his watch and the photo. My guy dumped the body in the alley. It looks like a mugging."
The recording clicked off.
I sat in stunned silence. The absolute, sociopathic cruelty of my husband was laid bare in a sixty-second audio clip. He had orchestrated a murder and spoken about it like he was ordering lunch.
Sebastian’s face was a mask of stone. He had listened to that recording before. He had known for three years that his brother was murdered, but he hadn't had the proof to tie Graham to the trigger.
Until he found the watch in Graham's pocket tonight.
“Criminal malfeasance,” the lawyer said, tapping the bylaws document. “Mr. Tate has just confessed to federal embezzlement, money laundering, and conspiracy to commit murder on tape.”
The lawyer handed me a gold pen.
“By enacting the continuity clause, Graham Tate is immediately stripped of his voting shares. You, as the secondary shareholder, now control one hundred percent of Tate Architecture.”
I stared at the pen.
If I signed this, I wasn't just taking my money back. I was taking his entire life's work. I was taking the one thing he cared about more than anything else.
I picked up the pen and signed my name on the dotted line.
Mara Romano.
Sebastian picked up the document.
“It’s 4:00 AM,” Sebastian said. “The press conference is in two hours. Daniel, where is Chloe?”
“She just arrived, Boss. She’s in the drawing room.”
“Good.” Sebastian looked at me. “It’s time to get dressed, Mara. You can’t destroy an empire wearing my coat and bare feet.”
An hour later, one of Sebastian’s staff had provided me with a sleek, tailored navy-blue suit. My hair was pulled back, my face washed and composed. I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize the terrified, confused woman who had climbed out of a laundry room window last night.
I looked like a CEO.
I walked into the drawing room.
Chloe was sitting on a sofa, sipping tea, looking exhausted and terrified. When she saw me, she immediately stood up, her head bowed in shame.
“Mara, I’m so sorry,” Chloe whispered. “I was so stupid. I let him manipulate me.”
I walked over to her. I didn't feel hatred toward her anymore. I just felt pity. Graham had used her just like he had used me.
“You have a chance to make it right today, Chloe,” I said softly.
At exactly 6:00 AM, the front gates of the Romano compound opened.
The driveway was flooded with news vans, reporters, and police cruisers. The flashing lights illuminated the morning fog.
I walked out the front doors, flanked by Sebastian and Daniel.
The press immediately started shouting questions.
"Mara! Are you safe?"
"Mr. Romano, did you abduct her?"
"Is Graham Tate telling the truth?"
I stepped up to the microphone set up on the top stair.
I didn't tremble. I didn't hesitate.
“My name is Mara Romano,” I said clearly, my voice carrying over the crowd. “I am standing here of my own free will. I am entirely coherent, and I am entirely safe.”
The reporters went silent.
“Last night, my former husband, Graham Tate, attempted to have me involuntarily committed to a psychiatric facility to cover up his own massive federal crimes.”
I held up a thick folder.
“Graham Tate has spent the last two years embezzling millions of dollars from the city’s new stadium project and laundering the money through known organized crime syndicates.”
Cameras flashed aggressively.
“As of one hour ago,” I continued, “due to his criminal malfeasance, I have legally seized one hundred percent control of Tate Architecture. My first act as CEO has been to hand all financial records, audio confessions, and evidence of embezzlement directly to the federal prosecutor.”
I looked directly into the camera lens, knowing Graham was watching.
“Graham Tate is not a victim. He is a thief. And he is a murderer.”
The crowd erupted into absolute chaos.
But as the police commissioner stepped forward to take the microphone from me, a sleek, black town car pulled aggressively through the gates, bypassing the press line entirely.
The car screeched to a halt at the bottom of the steps.
The back door opened.
Marcus Vance stepped out.
He looked exactly like the photograph, the jagged scar across his jaw stark in the morning light. He wasn't surrounded by guards. He was alone.
He looked past the press. He looked past the police.
May you like
He looked directly at Sebastian.
And in his hand, he was holding a heavy, blood-stained manila envelope.
