Chapter 5

Joey's report spelled it out clearly. The company had no real business, no employees, and no office. Its only purpose was to act as a slush fund.

Money came in, then was funneled into a dozen different private accounts.

Three of those accounts had some curious transactions—luxury goods, upscale hotels, and exclusive clubs.

All these expenses took place in a different city.

Every single transaction matched up exactly with Reyna's so-called "business trips."

I read the report twice. Then I put my phone down.

The tulip scent in the yard was strong, but all of a sudden, I couldn't smell a thing.

Four years of marriage, 25 billion dollars invested. And in the end, all I got was a spot in the back row, and a 130 million dollar slush fund.

I gave Joey a call. "I need a favor."

"What is it?" Joey asked.

I said, "For every contract Reynia Group has with suppliers or partners. If they got access through my connections, cut them off. End all those deals, right now."

"Mr. Armstrong, that'll seriously mess with Reynia Group's daily operations," Joey pointed out.

"I know," I replied.

"If the entire supply chain gets cut off at once, Reynia Group can only hold out for seven days at most," Joey added.

I said flatly, "Seven days, then."

Joey went silent, hung up, and started executing the order.

I walked into my study and opened up the safe. Inside was a document—the marriage contract from four years ago.

There was a clause: while we were married, we couldn't touch each other's personal assets, but anything we built together would be split based on how much each of us invested if we ever got divorced.

For Reynia Group, I put in 25 billion dollars. Reyna put in zero.

If we went strictly by the contract, Reynia Group should be all mine.

But I never thought I'd actually have to use that clause until today.

I snapped a photo of the contract and sent it to my lawyer. [Bryan, get the divorce started.]

Bryan replied: [Got it.]

No questions, no small talk.

Everyone who was been with me for eight years knew I didn't mess around. When I said something, it got done.

At six in the evening, Reyna called again. This time, I picked up.

Her voice was hoarse, like she'd been crying.

"Braiden, was it you who cut off the supply chain?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

Reyna demanded, "Three raw material suppliers just pulled out, two logistics companies cut off their services, and the factory sent a notice saying they're shutting down next month.

"Are you trying to kill Reynia Group?"

"I'm just taking back what's mine," I replied.

"Those channels are Reynia Group's," she protested.

I shot back, "Those channels are mine. Every contract was signed by my company. Reynia Group only had access, that's all. Your CFO knows that even better than you."

There was a long silence on the other end.

"What exactly are you trying to do?" Reyna finally asked.

"Divorce," I said.

The moment I said it, I expected Reyna to lose it or just break down.

But instead, she laughed. "Divorce? Braiden, you really think you can get a divorce whenever you feel like it?"

"What are you getting at?" I asked.

Reyna replied, "If your status ever gets exposed, it'll mess you up way more than it'll mess me.

"If you want to keep things quiet, I can help you. But if you push me, I'll risk everything. I won't hold back."

"Is that a threat?" I asked.

"I'm just giving you a heads-up," she replied.

"Reyna, don't overestimate your leverage," I said.

"Then don't underestimate my bottom line," she shot back.

With that, Reyna hung up.

I stared out the window at the sunset, orange-red light flooding half the sky.

Threats. If there was one thing I didn't fear, it was threats. Because she had absolutely no clue who I really was.

The "identity" she thought she knew? That was just the tip of the iceberg.

At eight that night, news exploded across the industry.

The Reynia Group's IPO bell-ringing ceremony was called off by the exchange because of financial irregularities.

The comments section went wild.

People were saying the company's cash flow had dried up, some accused them of cooking the books, and others swore the founder was being investigated.

Rumors were flying everywhere, each version wilder than the last.

I scrolled through a few comments, then turned off my phone. I took a shower and went to bed.

At 2 a.m., someone started pounding on the doorbell like crazy.

It wasn't Reyna. It was Korbin.

He stood alone at the door, dressed in a black coat, his face grim and stormy. "Mr. Armstrong, can we talk?"

I leaned against the doorframe, still in my pajamas, staring him down. "You think you're worthy to talk to me?"

Korbin froze, his jaw twitching. "Mr. Armstrong, you're pulling your money out has put Reyna under immense pressure. I hope you can…"

"Reyna?" I cut him off.

Korbin froze for a second, realizing he'd let something slip. "I call her Ms. Goodwin," he tried to correct himself.

"You just called her Reyna," I cut him off.

He fell silent.

I asked, "Korbin, you show up at my house at 2 a.m. What are you here as? Chief assistant, or something else?"

"I'm here to handle things for the company," Korbin replied.