Chapter 2

By the time Frankie showed up, I'd already polished off thirty wings.

He plopped down, saw the pile of pile of bones in front of me, and sucked in a sharp breath. "Are you eating out of revenge or just letting yourself go?"

"Celebrating," I said, handing him a beer. "Got divorced today."

Frankie stared at me, nearly spitting out his beer.

"What did you say?"

"Got divorced. Oh, and I quit my job. And while I was at it, I took back 51% of the company's shares."

Frankie blinked, paused for three seconds, then grabbed his phone and started scrolling.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He replied, "Checking if I should be calling the cops on you right now. Seriously, did you hit your head or are you having a meltdown?"

I snapped a photo of the three signed documents and showed it to him.

Frankie looked at them, then slowly put his phone down. His face shifted from pure shock to a kind of speechless awe, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Gavin," he called out.

"Yeah?" I confused.

"Are you even human?"

"What?"

"Did she even know what she was signing?"

I chewed on a chicken wing and shook my head. "She was too busy video chatting with her old flame to even look up."

Frankie was silent for five seconds, then picked up his beer bottle and clinked it against mine with a solemn look.

"Here's to her," he announced.

I asked, "Who are we toasting?"

"To your ex-wife. I've never seen anyone be such a big sucker and shrug it off."

I laughed and took a big gulp of beer.

Generous?

She wouldn't be laughing when the company started falling apart tomorrow.

It wasn't me jinxing her.

That was the truth.

Out of the seven core projects Shaw Corp had going, five of the clients were people I knew personally.

Marcus from Stellar Holdings, I helped his son get into the best high school ten years ago.

Felix Quinn from Riverside Realty. He was about to jump off a building when he went bankrupt, and I personally handed him about 670,000 dollars to keep him afloat.

Emmett Carter from Skyline Technologies. We grew up together, running around the same yard with nothing on.

These people signed contracts with Shaw Corp, but in their hearts, they were really doing business with me.

Now that I was gone, those contracts were scrap paper.

But for now, that was none of my business.

Tonight, it was all about the food and booze.

My phone buzzed.

Joe Thorne texted: [Mr. Grant, did you really leave?]

I shot back: [Yeah, I'm gone. From now on, call me Gavin.]

Joe: [What about all those projects at the company?]

Me: [What's that got to do with me? I'm a free man now.]

Joe sent a crying emoji and didn't say anything else.

Frankie leaned over to check my phone. "Who's that?"

"My old secretary," I replied.

"A woman?"

"Nope, a guy."

Frankie immediately lost interest and went back to gnawing on his grilled kidneys.

That night, we drank until two in the morning. I was so drunk I passed out on a chair at the roadside grill, thinking it was my bed, and Frankie was so wasted he kept calling the owner his sister-in-law.

The next morning, I woke up at nine in my rented apartment.

Yep, an apartment.

Three years of marriage, and I never once lived in the Shaw family mansion.

Isabelle said her old flame, Charles, used to crash in that guest room, so I wasn't allowed to stay there.

So I rented a studio near the office and commuted every day.

Who'd believe a guy who married into a rich family was still renting his own place?

But today was different.

Today, I slept in, no early meetings, no clients to babysit, and no more icy glares from Isabelle.

I rolled over and slept for another hour.

When I woke up again, my phone had seventeen missed calls.

Twelve of them were from Shaw Corp.

The other five were from some of my business partners, all calling to check if the contracts were still valid.

I didn't bother calling any of them back.

I opened up the food delivery app and went all out, ordering a deluxe breakfast.

It cost about thirteen dollars.

Back when I was at Shaw Corp, my go-to breakfast was just a two-dollar convenience-store sandwich and coffee from downstairs, all because Isabelle said, "A guy who married into the family should keep a low profile."

Today, I threw in a seven-dollar fresh-squeezed orange juice, just for the hell of it.

While I was digging into my breakfast, Frankie called, sounding even more hyped than I was. "Bro, you gotta hear this. Shaw Corp is blowing up this morning."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"My cousin works in their finance department. She said three big clients sent notices first thing, all wanting to put their deals on hold. Your ex-wife is totally freaking out."

"Oh."

"That's it? Seriously, you don't feel even a little bit guilty?"

"Why should I? She's the one who told me to leave."

"Yeah, makes sense." Frankie paused for a moment. "So, did her old flame take over today?"

"He should be there by now."

"Can't wait to see the drama unfold."

After hanging up, I went back to my orange juice.

The sunlight outside was perfect.

Early March sun warmed my face, almost made me want to start humming.

For the first time in three years, I finally felt like being alive was pretty damn great.