Chapter 6 - SHATTERED GLASS
The next two weeks were a blur of catastrophic losses for Preston Hayes.
He had spent the first three nights sleeping on the couch of an old college buddy, until that buddy’s wife, who had read the Wall Street Journal expose on the hostile takeover and Preston's subsequent firing, demanded he leave. The article hadn't mentioned Genevieve's identity to protect her privacy, but it painted Preston as a corrupt, incompetent executive who had driven the firm into the ground.
Preston retreated to a cheap motel in Queens, ironically exactly where he had told Genevieve she would end up. The wallpaper peeled, the radiator clanked all night, and the smell of stale smoke clung to his clothes.
He was broke. Truly, terrifyingly broke. The IRS had frozen his personal accounts pending an investigation into unpaid capital gains taxes. His beloved Aston Martin had been auctioned off. The Hamptons house was gone. And the Fifth Avenue penthouse—his pride and joy—was currently being gutted and renovated by Archer Global to be used as corporate housing.
Desperation breeds delusion, and Preston convinced himself there was still a legal loophole. He just needed the right lawyer.
He spent his last forty dollars on a cab ride to the prestigious offices of Kessler & Associates. Diane Kessler owed him. He had brought her millions in billable hours over the years.
He marched into the lobby, ignoring the receptionist's protests, and pushed his way into Diane's corner office.
Diane looked up from her paperwork, her face hardening into a mask of pure ice. "Get out of my office, Preston."
"Diane, you have to help me," Preston pleaded, planting his hands on her desk. "They took everything. My money, my properties, my reputation. I want to sue Elias Archer. I want to sue Genevieve for marital fraud. She lied about her identity! That invalidates the prenup!"
Diane leaned back in her chair, pressing her fingertips together. She looked at him not with pity, but with profound disgust.
"You really are stupid, aren't you?" Diane said coldly. "Preston, you drafted the prenup. You intentionally wrote it to leave her with nothing. A judge took one look at it, laughed, and tossed it. The ten-thousand-dollar settlement you offered her? It's gone. The judge ruled that since the marital assets were acquired while you were fraudulently misrepresenting your corporate earnings, they are subject to seizure."
"But she lied!" Preston yelled.
"She omitted," Diane corrected. "And frankly, considering you were sleeping with your PR assistant for six months, I don't think any jury in America is going to weep for your broken heart."
"You're my lawyer!"
"I was your lawyer," Diane snapped, standing up. "Until Archer Global threatened to pull their retainers from our parent company if I ever took your calls again. You are radioactive, Preston. No firm in this city will touch you. No bank will loan to you. You are a ghost."
Preston staggered back as if he had been physically struck. "What am I supposed to do?"
Diane picked up her phone. "I suggest you learn how to carry plates in a diner, Preston. Now get out before I call security."
Preston wandered the streets of Manhattan for hours. The city that used to bow to him now felt like a labyrinth of glass and steel designed to crush him. He walked past high-end boutiques where he used to buy watches on a whim, staring at his reflection in the glass. He looked like a vagrant.
His phone buzzed. It was a text from Tiffany.
His heart leaped. Maybe she forgives me. Maybe she misses me.
He opened the message.
I'm moving to LA with a director. Don't ever contact me again. Also, you owe me $3,000 for that dinner at Le Bernardin, you deadbeat.
May you like
Preston dropped the phone. It shattered on the pavement, the screen spider-webbing into a thousand tiny pieces. He didn't bend down to pick it up. He just stood in the rain, watching the pieces of his life wash into the gutter.
Meanwhile, across the city, Genevieve Archer was standing on the balcony of her new office, sipping espresso and watching the storm roll in over the skyline. She felt a profound, radiant peace. She had broken the glass ceiling of her own self-doubt, and the view from the top was breathtaking.
