PART 7: Balancing the Books
PART 7: Balancing the Books
The top of the food chain.
Six months after the shortest marriage in New York state history, the legal proceedings against Preston Cole finally reached their quiet, predictable conclusion.
Faced with overwhelming evidence, irrefutable interior security footage, and a public defender who advised him that a jury trial would only guarantee the maximum statutory sentence, Preston accepted a plea deal.
He was sentenced to twenty-four months in a minimum-security state correctional facility for domestic assault and malicious property destruction, followed by three years of supervised probation and a permanent restraining order prohibiting him from coming within one thousand yards of me, my condo, or my office building.
He was broke, unemployed, disgraced, and locked behind iron bars, spending his days regretting the exact minute he decided to kick a table in front of a woman he should have treated with respect.
On a crisp autumn Sunday, I sat at my new glass dining table, enjoying a quiet, perfectly timed brunch that I had cooked entirely for myself.
The sun streamed brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the pristine hardwood floors where a greasy pile of pot roast had once splattered.
I took a slow, deliberate sip of my fresh orange juice, looking at the empty chair across from me.
Preston had demanded that I learn my place. He had wanted a docile, obedient wife who would bow her head, surrender her passwords, and wait on him hand and foot.
Instead, he had discovered the hard way that my place wasn't on my knees in the kitchen.
My place was right here—at the absolute top of the food chain, auditing every single risk, balancing every equation, and ruling my own life with an iron fist and an unshakable smile.
May you like
I set my fork down, picked up my tablet to review the morning market trends, and let out a long, peaceful breath of absolute freedom.
The books were balanced. The liability was cleared. And my portfolio had never looked better.
