Chapter Four

~ Stanley ~

The 18-hour flight from Singapore to Texas was a victory lap. I’d spent it sipping Macallan 25 and reviewing the contract in my mind. The Liang-Po account, a whale that had been teasing the industry for years, was finally mine. I’d snatched it right from under Alistair Croft’s aristocratic nose. I’d crushed him, expanded my empire, and the champagne had tasted like victory. I could almost hear his teeth grinding from here. The man was old-money etiquette, while I, Stanley Morgan, built an empire with grit and determination.

The limo ride home was a continuation of the celebration. I barely noticed the Texas humidity as I strode up the manicured path to my house. My house. A testament to my success.

Where is Jennifer? She should have been at the door, ready to welcome me and take my coat. Ungrateful bit*ch. Probably still moping about the miscarriage. A minor setback, and she’d turned it into a months-long melodrama.

I strode up the walk, I didn't even have to use my key; the front door was unlocked. Careless. I’d have to speak to her about that.

And there she was, standing in the middle of the foyer, calm as you please, with a single suitcase beside her. Not a tear, neither was there a smile on her face. Nothing. only an icy stillness that set my teeth on edge.

“Going somewhere?” I asked, letting the door slam shut behind me. Was this another one of her moods? Another bout of moping over that… unfortunate business with the pregnancy? She’d been so clumsy. I’d told her to be careful on those stairs. This was my house. My everything. Her audacity was staggering.

“You are,” she said, staring directly at my face. Her voice was different, hollowed out and sharpened to a point.

Before I could demand what the hell she meant by that, the doorbell chimed loudly, interrupting me. I whipped around, running down the foyer, yanking the door open, ready to scold some lost delivery driver.

It was the FBI.

Two agents in cheap windbreakers stood there, their faces blank. “Stanley Morgan?”

“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing on my property?” I yelled, blocking the doorway, preventing them entry into my home.

The taller one held up a badge. “FBI. We have a warrant for your arrest.” he said

Arrest? The word was so foreign to me that I almost laughed. “Arrest? For what? This is absurd. Do you know who I am? , you must have probably mistaken your way to some criminal” I insisted.

“We have a full list of charges, sir. You can review them down at the field office: conspiracy, wire fraud, domestic violence, tax evasion, violation of the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act…”

As he spoke, they moved forward towards me. Hands grabbed my arms. I struggled and screamed. “Get your hands off me! You have no idea what you’re doing! This is a mistake! My lawyers will have your badges for this!”

My eyes darted to Jennifer. She hadn’t moved. And then I saw it: the ghost of a smile on her lips. A cruel, victorious curl that I had never seen before.

My eyes popped out of their socket as the reality I had meant earlier hit me hard: the stillness, the suitcase, her boldness and the non chalant attitude.

“You Jennifer,” I Said. “You did this to me! You ungrateful, spiteful whore! After everything I gave you! This house! This life! you dare to set me up?”

The agents were pulling my arms behind my back, the cold click of handcuffs encircling my wrists. The sensation was so degrading, so profoundly wrong, I thought I might vomit.

“You and Croft!” I shouted, thrashing as they bundled me toward the door. “I’ll destroy you both! I’ll bury you! Do you hear me? You’re nothing! NOTHING!”

They shoved me out into the daylight. Neighbors were probably watching. The humiliation burned worse than the cuffs. As they pushed my head down to force me into the stark, gray van, I twisted my neck for one last look up at the house. She was at the window now, watching. That cruel smile was full-blown, a thing of pure, chilling triumph.

The van doors slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. I was screaming, cursing her name, Croft’s name, the whole damned world. They’d given me my one phone call. I dialed my father, my hands shaking with rage.

“Dad,” I snapped the second he answered. “Listen carefully. Jennifer has lost her mind. She collided with Alistair Croft and set me up. The FBI is involved. It’s a farce. Call Henderson, and get him to the field office now. I want this cleaned up in an hour.”

There was silence on the other end. Then, my father’s voice, heavy with disappointment I hadn’t heard since I was a boy. “Stanley… the SEC has already frozen the company’s assets. It’s on the news. They’re saying… they’re saying they have evidence. Ledgers. Videos.”

“Videos? What videos?" I yelled. "It’s all fabricated! Don’t you dare believe this! I am your son! You will stand by me!”

“Your mother… She's seen the reports, Stanley. The things they’re saying… about Jennifer… about what you did.” His voice broke. “We’re… disappointed, son. We’ll call Henderson, but… you need to tell us the truth.”

The truth? The truth was that I was Stanley Morgan, a king, and I had been betrayed. As the van carried me away, the walls of my world, which I had built to be impenetrable, crumbled to dust around me, brought down by the two people I had considered beneath my notice: my pathetic wife and a washed-up rival. The injustice of it was a fire in my veins. They would pay. They would all pay. I am going to get out pretty soon.