Chapter 2 - THE SIGNATUREBy the time I reached the private terminal lounge, my phone had already started vibrating.
Seventeen missed calls.
Aaron.
Eleanor.
His chief operating officer.
His CFO.
Even Jasmine.
I ignored every one.
Instead, I called my family office.
“Connect me to Martin.”
My father’s chief trustee answered within ten seconds.
“Mrs. Prescott.”
“Is the Prescott Group transfer complete?”
There was a pause.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“And the secondary notices?”
“Delivered?”
“They will be delivered in eleven minutes.”
I smiled.
“Excellent.”
Martin hesitated.
“May I ask whether this is because of the incident on the aircraft?”
“No.”
“It isn’t?”
“The incident on the aircraft was simply the final confirmation.”
I ended the call.
The lounge windows overlooked the runway.
Aaron’s jet was still sitting there.
Its engines were off.
People were moving around it.
The entire executive board was stranded.
For the first time in four years, I felt no urge to rescue him.
My phone rang again.
Aaron.
I answered.
“What?”
His voice was low.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“The bank says the $900 million credit facility has been frozen.”
“I see.”
“The board’s emergency account has been suspended.”
“Strange.”
“Alyssa.”
He sounded frightened now.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done.”
I looked through the glass.
“I understand perfectly.”
“This is not funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You can’t just interfere with my company.”
I almost laughed at that.
“Your company?”
“Yes.”
“Aaron, do you remember the night in 2022 when you told me your company was dead?”
Silence.
“You said your investors were pulling out.”
Still silence.
“You said you had payroll for two weeks.”
He exhaled.
“Alyssa, this is ancient history.”
“No.”
“It was four years ago.”
“You told me you’d lose everything.”
“I was under pressure.”
“You told me you were terrified.”
“I was.”
“I gave you $1.5 billion.”
His voice sharpened.
“That was a private investment.”
“Interesting.”
“Yes.”
“You signed a document.”
“I signed hundreds of documents.”
“You signed one that said the money was secured against controlling equity.”
He stopped breathing for a second.
I could hear the silence on the line.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You said you were giving me the money.”
“I did.”
“You said it was a gift.”
“I said I wouldn't make you repay it.”
“That means nothing.”
“It means exactly what the contract says.”
Another silence.
His voice turned cold.
“Where is the agreement?”
I smiled.
“Your legal department has it.”
“No.”
“Ask Victor.”
Victor Chen.
Aaron’s general counsel.
I knew exactly what would happen.
Victor would remember.
Because I had handed him the sealed document myself.
The call ended.
Five minutes later, Victor called me.
His voice trembled.
“Mrs. Prescott, I believe you need to know that Aaron is asking questions.”
“Good.”
“The documents are valid.”
“I know.”
“He thinks he has an automatic right to challenge them.”
“He can.”
“There’s more.”
I waited.
“The patent assignments.”
I looked toward the jet.
“What about them?”
“Your family office never transferred the patents.”
“I know.”
“We only granted Prescott Labs a commercial license.”
“Correct.”
Victor lowered his voice.
“That license contains a change of control clause.”
I closed my eyes.
“Does Aaron know?”
“No.”
I smiled.
“Then he’s about to.”
Another call came through.
This time from the chairman of Prescott Group.
I answered.
“Mr. Hawthorne?”
“Mr. Langley.”
His voice was stiff.
“There is an emergency board meeting being requested.”
“I imagine there is.”
“Your family trust owns significant shares.”
“More than significant.”
Another pause.
“Mrs. Prescott, may I ask whether you intend to exercise your voting rights?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“Against Aaron?”
I looked at the runway.
“No.”
The chairman sounded confused.
“Then?”
“Not yet.”
I ended the call.
I wanted Aaron to have one final illusion.
I wanted him to believe this could still be repaired.
Because betrayal hits hardest when hope is still breathing.
At 4:37 that afternoon, Aaron came to the Hawthorne estate.
He didn't arrive alone.
His mother was with him.
So was Jasmine.
They entered through the front doors without waiting.
Eleanor looked at me with open hostility.
“This has gone far enough.”
I was sitting in the library.
A folder rested on the table.
Aaron stared at it.
“What is that?”
“Your future.”
He stepped forward.
I opened the folder.
Inside were twelve pages.
The original $1.5 billion funding agreement.
Thirteen patent licenses.
Two voting agreements.
And one final document.
Aaron picked it up.
His eyes moved over the first paragraph.
Then the second.
Then the third.
His face went completely blank.
“What is this?”
“The company’s beneficial ownership schedule.”
He looked at me.
“This says you own forty-eight percent.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“It says the Hawthorne Trust owns forty-eight percent.”
I smiled.
“And who do you think controls the Hawthorne Trust?”
Eleanor stared at her son.
“Aaron.”
He looked at me.
I leaned back.
“You didn't marry a decorative wife, Aaron.”
Jasmine suddenly spoke.
“You can't destroy the company over a seat.”
I turned to her.
“No.”
I closed the folder.
“I’m not destroying it.”
“Then what are you doing?”
I looked directly at Aaron.
“I’m deciding who deserves to run it.”
He slammed his palm onto the table.
“You would never dare.”
I smiled.
“Tomorrow morning, the board will vote.”
His face hardened.
“You think they’ll choose you?”
“No.”
I stood.
“I think they’ll choose whoever still owns the thing they built.”
I walked toward the door.
Behind me, Aaron whispered one word.
“Please.”
I stopped.
It was the same word he had used four years ago.
Only this time, it no longer had power.
I turned around.
“You should have remembered who you were speaking to.”
Then I left him alone with the documents.
At midnight, Aaron finally opened the last envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
A photograph of him.
Taken two months ago.
In Jasmine’s apartment.
His wedding ring was sitting on the table beside a second glass.
May you like
And beneath the photograph was a single line:
The seat was never the betrayal. The lie was.
Related Stories
