Chapter 2 - The Fall of the Prodigal Son
The news of Julian Cross’s sudden termination hit the Chicago business community like a thunderclap. For years, Julian had been the golden boy of Midwest logistics, featured on covers of business magazines as an innovative leader. The narrative had always been carefully curated by my public relations firm. But when the curtain fell, the truth leaked into the press with terrifying speed.
By noon, Marjorie Cross was standing in the lobby of the penthouse building, surrounded by Louis Vuitton luggage, screaming at the building superintendent.
"Do you know who I am?" Marjorie shrieked, her face red, her Midwestern politeness entirely shattered. "My son owns this building! I will have you fired by the end of the day!"
The superintendent, a stoic man named Thomas who had worked for my family for twenty years, simply handed her a laminated document. "Ma'am, this building is owned by Greer Properties LLC. Ms. Amelia Greer has personally requested that you vacate the premises. If you do not leave the lobby in five minutes, the police will escort you out for trespassing."
Julian arrived twenty minutes later, his face flushed with humiliation. The press had already picked up on the story. Local journalists and photographers were gathering outside the building, taking pictures of Marjorie sitting on her expensive luggage on the sidewalk.
"Mother, get in the cab!" Julian hissed, grabbing her arm.
"Julian! What is the meaning of this?" Marjorie demanded, slapping his arm away. "Where is that girl? How dare she disrespect us like this? Call the police! Tell them she locked us out of your apartment!"
"She owns the apartment, Mother!" Julian finally snapped, his voice ringing across the busy street. "She owns the penthouse. She owns Cross Meridian. She owns everything!"
Marjorie froze, her eyes widening in genuine horror. "What... what do you mean she owns everything? You told me you were the boss! You told me she was just a high-society wife spending your money!"
"I lied, alright?" Julian screamed, breaking down right there on the curb under the flashing lights of three paparazzi cameras. "I lied because I was embarrassed! I didn't build anything! Amelia gave me that title! She paid for everything! And now she took it all back!"
The footage of Julian’s breakdown outside the building went viral within hours. The title on every major financial blog read: "Self-Made Executive Exposed: The Secret Empire of Amelia Greer."
Meanwhile, I was sitting in a private suite at the Drake Hotel, sipping Earl Grey tea with my legal team. The divorce papers had been prepared, detailing the complete separation of assets. Since we had signed a comprehensive prenuptial agreement drafted by my late father’s attorneys, Julian was entitled to absolutely nothing from my estate.
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"He's hired Richard Vance's rival, Donald Hayes," Arthur informed me, putting down a file. "Hayes is aggressive. He’s going to try to argue that Julian contributed to the appreciation of Greer Vale Holdings during the marriage."
"Let him try," I said coldly. "Gather every single audit report from Cross Meridian over the past four years. Every bad trade I had to cover, every contract my team had to re-write, and every dollar of company funds he funneled into his mother’s vanity projects. If Julian wants a fight, I’ll make sure he leaves the courtroom in financial ruin."
