The Billionaire He Threw Away Chapter 05

The Billionaire He Threw Away Chapter 05

The board meeting lasted four hours. Richard Hale spent most of it trying to bury me in jargon-leveraged buyouts, EBITDA margins, capital restructuring frameworks-each term deployed like a weapon, designed to make me feel small.

I let him talk.

What he didn’t know was that I hadn’t just married a startup founder-I’d been the one doing Prism Digital’s books for two years. I’d taught myself financial modeling on YouTube at 2 a.m. while Liam slept. I’d proofread every investor deck he ever sent out.

When Richard finished his monologue, I asked one question.

“The Wentworth Media subsidiary lost twelve million last quarter. You attributed it to market conditions in your report. But your overhead

increased by thirty-one percent in the same period. Can you explain where that money went?”

The room went quiet. Richard’s smile stiffened.

“That’s… a complex issue,” he began.

“It’s a simple question,” I said.

Gerald, sitting beside me, slid another document across the table. Expense reports. Flagged line items. A paper trail that led directly to Richard’s

personal accounts.

“We can discuss this further,” I said, “or you can resign today with dignity. Your choice.”

Richard Hale resigned before lunch.

By 3 p.m., I had appointed an interim CFO, restructured the media subsidiary’s leadership, and scheduled individual meetings with every

department head for the following week.

When I finally stepped out of the building, my phone buzzed.

Liam: *Where are you? Vanessa needs dinner. She’s craving Italian.*

I stared at the message. Then I typed back: *Make it yourself.*

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Liam: “What’s gotten into you lately?*

I put my phone away and hailed a cab to the Greenwich Hotel. Diane was already there, waiting in the lobby with two garment bags.

“You’ll need these,” she said. “Board meetings, investor dinners, press appearances. You can’t show up in Target forever.”

I opened the first bag. Inside was a black dress so perfectly cut it looked like it had been sewn by angels with engineering degrees.

“Your grandmother’s tailor,” Diane explained. “She kept your measurements on file.”

“She never met me,” I whispered.

“She had people watching over you,” Diane said simply. “She always did.”

That night, I ordered room service and ate pasta alone in a king-sized bed, wearing a hotel bathrobe that cost more than my monthly rent.

It was the most peaceful meal I’d had in months.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t Liam.

It was a Google Alert I’d set up for Prism Digital.

***PRISM DIGITAL SECURES MAJOR PARTNERSHIP WITH BELLWORTH MEDIA-FOUNDER LIAM COLE CALLS IT A TURNING POINT ***

I clicked the article. There was a photo. Liam at some networking event, grinning wide, shaking hands with a man in a navy suit.

And beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm-Vanessa.

She wasn’t introduced as his pregnant girlfriend. She was introduced as Prism Digital’s “Director of Strategic Partnerships.”

He’d given her a title. At his company. The company I’d helped build. The company my grandmother’s money had saved.

I zoomed in on the photo. Vanessa was glowing. Not with pregnancy-with triumph.

And suddenly, a thought slid into place like a key into a lock.

Vanessa’s pregnancy. Her sudden reappearance. The way she’d seamlessly inserted herself into every corner of Liam’s life.

I picked up the phone and called Gerald.

“I need you to look into someone for me,” I said. “Vanessa Price. Everything. Employment history, financials, medical records-whatever you can

find.”

A pause. “May I ask why?”

“Because I don’t think she’s pregnant,” I said. “And I don’t think any of this is a coincidence.”