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Divorcing The CEO: I'll Take Your Empire

Chapter 4 4

Word Count: 709    |    Released on: 07/02/2026

e entrance onto the street, gas

a dirty canvas bag-and looked away. He assumed she was tempo

raised her hand. A yellow

ne to open Uber, then s

nd a crumpled wad of cash-maybe eighty dollar

d, eyeing her in the rearvi

she said.

of Manhattan gave way to the graffiti and brick of

onverted warehouse, Isidora hand

the interco

ng paint-splattered overalls. She took o

e and old pizza. It was messy

She just hugged Isidora so

re sitting on the floor, e

" Isidora said, staring

ook, legally, he can't starve you out. But practically? H

iquid assets are frozen, but that's a temporary inconvenience. He wants to play d

pped chewi

shadow accounts." Isidora took a bite of the pizza. "I'm going to exp

pen. "You're going to

rrect the market

n the floor. Fergu

e looked at the screen.

the SIM card. It was a tiny chip of plasti

e dropped the SIM card in. It fluttered down like

said, grinnin

r," Isidora said. "

e celebrate. Tomorrow. We go shopp

cash is limited. I have about five t

aid. "Torture ourselves with vi

Ec

ora

brooch," sh

er asked. "I thought yo

ora said. A cold knot formed in her stoma

a bed. Sirens wailed outside, a stark contras

rguson landed. He

calls from

left via the stairs, sir. She took

the town car, watching the rain stre

regret. Just the annoyance of a

," he

ir

ezing the accounts isn't enough. I want

s,

ndon sky. "Let's see how long

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Divorcing The CEO: I'll Take Your Empire
Divorcing The CEO: I'll Take Your Empire
“I spent three years being the perfect wife to tech mogul Cash Ferguson, a forensic accountant playing the role of a low-risk asset to stabilize his public image. My world shattered when I saw a live CNBC broadcast from Sundance showing Cash tenderly hoisting a two-year-old boy onto his hip-a secret son born to a socialite mistress while he was supposedly at a business roadshow. When I confronted him with divorce papers, Cash didn't apologize; he laughed, calling me a "liability" and weaponizing my mother's history of mental illness to claim I was genetically unfit to carry his heir. He didn't just reject the split; he locked the penthouse elevator and froze every one of my accounts, reclassifying me from a wife to a piece of disputed company property. "You came from nothing, Isidora," he sneered, tossing a credit card at me like a leash. "Stop being dramatic. I can afford a pet, but don't think you can survive a day in the real world without my name." The betrayal turned lethal when I discovered Cash had tracked down my mother's stolen emerald brooch-my only connection to my past-and bought it as a gift for his mistress. He was using my trauma and my heritage to decorate the woman who had replaced me in his secret life. I realized then that Cash had made a fatal accounting error: he forgot that I was the one who built his shadow accounts and knew exactly where the fraud was buried. He wanted to treat our marriage like a hostile takeover, so I decided to give him a market correction he would never forget. I escaped down forty flights of stairs with nothing but a burner laptop and a plan to burn his empire to the ground. If he wanted to play dirty, I'd show him what happens when a forensic accountant initiates a liquidation protocol. I'm not just leaving; I'm going to make him crawl.”