“Same account.”
“Brokerage at Merrill?”
“Joint. He has trading authority.”
“Credit cards?”
“The black card. The AmEx Platinum. Both supplementary cards under my primary accounts.”
“Properties?”
“The Hamptons house is in my name only. The prenup is explicit.”
“Your company, Ether Tech? Stock options? Board position?”
“He has no shares. No position. The prenup bars any claim against my separate property, which includes all equity in Ether.”
“His income? His own accounts?”
I hesitated.
“He runs a consulting firm, Blackwood Strategies. I’m not entirely sure of the state of his accounts. He handled those separately.”
Ben and David exchanged a look.
“We’ll find out,” Ben said grimly. “Megan, get on the horn to our contacts at Chase, Merrill, AmEx, and Citi. We’re freezing all joint accounts and revoking all supplementary cards effective immediately, citing suspected financial malfeasance and the need to preserve marital assets. Use the Sinclair Holdings legal department as the authority. I want it done before midnight.”
Megan was already typing, phone cradled against her shoulder.
“On it. Ben, Judge Henderson’s clerk is prepped on the protection order. We’re first on the docket tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m. Given the circumstances, especially the newborn, the clerk thinks it’s highly likely.”
My phone, face up on the counter, lit up.
Tristan.
It vibrated softly. Then again. Then again. Three calls in rapid succession. Then a storm of texts.
Babe, you’re not answering. Everything okay with Liam?
The dinner was amazing. Mom and Dad say they can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
Heading home now. Should be there in twenty.
Did the car service get you home all right?
Amelia, pick up. Seriously, what’s going on?
“Don’t touch it,” Ben said without looking away from the screen. “Let him talk to the void. The more he messages, the more he calls, the more it helps us establish harassment following the abandonment. David, screenshot every notification. Timestamp them.”
It was surreal. My husband’s increasingly worried—or increasingly annoyed—messages were being cataloged as evidence. Each buzz was a tiny hammer blow to the life I had thought I had.
Ben’s own phone rang. He glanced at it.
“Robert,” he said, and put it on speaker. “We’re here. Amelia is with me. We’re securing the perimeter.”
“Ben.”
My father’s voice filled the room, calm and deadly.
“Status?”
“Financial lockdown is in progress. Protection and custody orders are being drafted for the morning. Physical security is in place. Amelia is following protocol.”
“Good. I’ve made some calls of my own.”
I could hear the crackle of a fireplace in the background. He was in Gstaad, but his war room was there with him.
“Tristan’s little consulting firm, Blackwood Strategies. Its two largest clients are subsidiaries of Vanguard Partners and Bryson Capital.”
I knew those names. My father sat on the board of Vanguard. He had played golf with the CEO of Bryson for thirty years.
“I’ve spoken to both CEOs,” my father continued, his voice devoid of warmth. “They were distressed to hear about Tristan’s personal conduct and its potential to reflect poorly on their brands. Given his role as a representative, both contracts are being terminated for convenience effective immediately. Email notifications will go out at 9:00 a.m. Eastern.”
