My Husband Divorced Me To Upgrade — He Didn’t Know He Was Tricking Himself Into Bankruptcy
Part 2
The kingdom of Valoria was a jewel tucked between the snowcapped Alps and the azure Mediterranean coast.
It was small, exclusive, immensely wealthy, and entirely ruled by my family.
As my private jet touched down on the Royal Airstrip, I looked out at the sprawling fortress of white marble.
It was my home, and the very cage I had run away from seven years ago.
“We have arrived, Your Highness,” Craig noted softly.
The cabin doors opened to let the crisp mountain air inside.
Gone were the frayed jeans and the Macy’s sweater.
My hair was blown out into sleek chestnut waves, and I wore a tailored crimson blazer that fit my true station.
A red carpet had been rolled out on the tarmac.
Twenty royal guards in ceremonial blue and gold uniforms lined the pathway.
Waiting at the end of the line, leaning heavily on a diamond-topped cane, was Queen Matriarch Megan.
My grandmother had ruled Valoria with an iron fist for sixty years.
I walked down the stairs, my heart pounding harder than it ever had during Greg’s shouting matches.
Stopping three feet from her, I dropped into a low, graceful curtsy.
“Grandmother,” I greeted respectfully, keeping my head bowed.
“Look at you, thin, pale, and smelling of polyester residue,” she remarked dryly.
She tapped her cane on the pavement.
I looked up, seeing the sharp flint in her eyes.
“I have returned,” I declared.
She gripped my chin with a gloved hand.
“You wanted to live like a commoner,” she stated.
“And did your American prince choose you?”
The question cut deep.
“No,” I replied, my tone growing icy.
“He chose a model, and he divorced me because he thought I lacked status.”
My grandmother threw her head back and let out a dry, rasping laugh.
“He left a princess for a model because of status,” she chuckled.
“Come, the lawyers are assembling to unfreeze seven years of assets and your four-hundred-million-dollar trust fund.”
I stiffened, remembering how Greg had thrown fifty thousand dollars at me.
“I don’t want the money, Grandmother,” I said as we walked toward the waiting Rolls-Royce Phantom.
“I want revenge.”
Her smile was terrifying.
“Then you have finally learned the family motto,” she purred.
“We do not make scenes in restaurants; we destroy them on the balance sheet.”
Three weeks later, I sat at the head of the mahogany table in the war room of the Sapphire Palace.
I now served as the High Stewardess.
My ministers presented a thick binder of inquiries for our ten-billion-dollar Royal Port Initiative.
Among the desperate bids was one from Lawson Global, my ex-husband’s struggling company.
“Send an invitation to Greg Lawson,” I ordered.
I stared out the window at the crashing waves below.
“Tell him he is a top finalist, but to prove his financial stability, he must place a one-hundred-million-dollar good faith deposit in our royal escrow.”
I knew he didn’t have the cash.
He would have to mortgage his houses, his stocks, his entire future.
Would Greg’s endless greed push him to risk his entire empire on a single, golden invitation?
Part 3
The victory was already losing its shine in New York City.
Greg Lawson sat in his pristine corner office, staring blankly at a spreadsheet that was bleeding red numbers.
Lawson Global was growing on paper, but the sheer cost of expansion was eating them alive.
He had leveraged the company to the absolute hilt to buy a massive fleet of new cargo ships.
He had banked his entire fortune on a massive contract with a Chinese distributor that had just completely fallen through.
“Greg, baby,” Heather called out.
She walked into his office without bothering to knock.
She was wearing a brand new diamond necklace, a gaudy piece Greg had put on his personal credit card only yesterday.
“The remodeling crew says the marble for the kitchen has to be imported directly from Italy.”
She sat on the edge of his polished mahogany desk.
“It’s going to be another eighty grand.”
Greg rubbed his temples, fighting off a stress headache.
“Just pay it, Heather,” he muttered.
“You seem stressed,” she observed.
She ran a manicured hand over his shoulder.
“We’re supposed to be celebrating; you’re finally free, and the dead weight is gone.”
The dead weight didn’t cost eighty grand for a kitchen counter, Greg thought bitterly to himself.
He forced a confident smile to hide the mounting panic inside his chest.
He couldn’t let Heather know about the severe liquidity issues plaguing his business.
She was drawn entirely to success and wealth.
If he showed weakness, she would lose interest immediately.
His intercom buzzed loudly.
“Mr.
Lawson, your CFO is on line one,” his assistant announced.
“He says it’s extremely urgent.”
Greg picked up the phone.
“What is it?” he demanded sharply.
“We have a massive problem, Greg,” the CFO’s voice trembled slightly.
“The banks are getting incredibly nervous about our current debt-to-equity ratio.
With the China deal completely dead, our stock dropped four percent this morning alone.
We need a major contract injection immediately, or the board is going to start asking difficult questions about your personal spending.”
“I’m working on it,” Greg snapped.
“There is one thing,” the CFO added hesitantly.
“It just hit the Bloomberg terminal an hour ago.
The Kingdom of Valoria has formally announced the Royal Port Initiative.
They are tripling the size of their harbor to become the primary trade hub for Southern Europe.
It’s a ten-billion-dollar infrastructure contract.”
Greg sat up straighter in his leather chair.
He knew of Valoria, the secretive playground of the ultra-rich.
“Ten billion?”
Greg asked, his greed reigniting instantly.
“The Royal Treasury is accepting proposals from foreign firms starting next week,” the CFO explained.
“But Greg, it’s invite-only.
You need a royal referral just to get into the room with the selection committee.”
Greg looked over at Heather, who was admiring her own reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window.
He needed to be part of a true power couple.
“Get me the full dossier on Valoria immediately,” Greg ordered.
“We are getting that contract.”
He hung up the phone, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline.
He briefly wondered where Brenda was, assuming she was struggling to pay rent in her tiny Queens apartment.
Little did he know, the royal referral he so desperately needed had just sat across from him at dinner two nights ago.
Three weeks had passed since Brenda’s triumphant return to Valoria.
The transformation was absolute and complete.
She sat at the head of the massive mahogany table in the war room of the Sapphire Palace.
The stone walls were lined with ancient oil paintings of her royal ancestors.
Brenda looked every bit their direct descendant now.
She wore a structured crimson blazer with the royal crest embroidered heavily in gold thread on the lapel.
On her finger sat the heavy signet ring of the High Stewardess.
Across from her sat the Minister of Trade, the Royal Treasurer, and her loyal steward, Craig.
“The request for proposals has been widely circulated, Your Highness,” the Minister of Trade reported.
He slid a thick, leather-bound binder across the polished table toward her.
“We have received inquiries from Maersk, DHL, and several massive conglomerates in Dubai.”
Brenda opened the binder slowly.
“And the American firms?” she asked quietly.
“A few,” the minister confirmed with a nod.
“Including an incredibly aggressive push from Lawson Global.
They have been persistent, sending expensive gifts to the consulate.”
Brenda’s lips curled into a faint, highly dangerous smile.
“Lawson Global,” she mused.
“Their financials are quite shaky,” the Royal Treasurer noted.
“The CEO, Greg Lawson, is spending heavily on personal luxury assets while the company carries significant, dangerous debt.”
“Perfect,” Brenda said softly, closing the binder with a sharp snap.
Craig cleared his throat politely.
“Your Highness, surely you aren’t actually considering them.”
“I am not considering them for the job, Craig,” Brenda clarified.
She walked over to the tall windows overlooking the jagged cliffs and the sea below.
“I am considering them for a very important lesson.”
She turned back to face the silent room of ministers.
“We will host the Grand Royal Gala next Saturday to officially announce the finalists for the port contract.
Send a personal invitation to Greg Lawson.
Make it look incredibly exclusive.”
“But he isn’t qualified at all,” the Minister of Trade argued.
“He doesn’t know that,” Brenda countered smoothly.
“Tell him that to demonstrate his financial stability to the crown, he must place a good faith deposit in the royal escrow account.
Make the deposit requirement exactly ten percent of the total bid value.”
The treasurer’s eyes widened in sheer shock.
“That is nearly one hundred million dollars.”
“He doesn’t have it,” Brenda agreed, a cold glint in her eye.
“Which means he will have to leverage everything he has left in the world to raise it.
He will mortgage his expensive houses, his company stocks, and his entire future.”
Two days later in New York, Greg screamed in pure triumph.
He threw the heavy, cream-colored envelope high into the air.
It was beautifully embossed with real gold leaf, bearing the royal seal of Valoria.
“I told you!” he yelled.
He grabbed Heather and spun her around the office.
“Look at this; it’s an exclusive invitation to the Sapphire Palace.”
Heather gasped, snatching the invitation from the floor.
“Her Royal Highness requests the extreme pleasure of Mr.
Greg Lawson.”
“Read the attached letter carefully,” Greg bragged.
“We are a top three finalist.”
He eagerly grabbed his cell phone and dialed the CFO’s extension.
“We’re in.”
“That’s incredible, Greg,” the CFO replied.
“But did you see the solvency deposit clause?”
“One hundred million is standard operating procedure for sovereign wealth deals,” Greg dismissed.
“It’s not standard, Greg,” the CFO stressed.
“To raise that kind of liquid cash by next week, we’d have to put up the Hamptons house, the penthouse, and your personal stock options.
We would have to take a highly predatory bridge loan directly against the company’s entire shipping fleet.
If you don’t get the contract, Lawson Global goes entirely bankrupt.”
Greg stopped his frantic pacing and looked over at Heather.
If he said no and played it safe, he would just be another boring executive in her eyes.
“I don’t lose,” Greg said.
“Liquidate all the assets, secure the bridge loan, and wire the money to the royal escrow account.”
He hung up the phone and turned back to Heather with a triumphant grin.
“Pack your bags, babe.
We’re going to meet the royal family.”
Heather squealed loudly and threw her arms around his neck.
Greg smirked at his own reflection in the mirror, feeling like an untouchable god.
He had finally gotten rid of his dead weight ex-wife, and now he was rapidly ascending to the top of the world.
He had absolutely no idea that the royal queen he was preparing to impress was the very woman he had evicted from his apartment three weeks ago.
The elaborate trap was finally set.
The golden invitation was accepted.
Brenda stood quietly on the high balcony of the palace, watching the sun slowly set over the Mediterranean Sea.
Craig stepped up respectfully beside her.
“The wire transfer has been fully confirmed, Your Highness,” Craig reported.
“The money is currently sitting securely in the royal escrow account.”
“Excellent,” Brenda replied.
She took a calm sip of her hot tea.
“Are you nervous at all about seeing him?”
Craig asked gently.
Brenda reached up and touched the heavy diamond necklace resting at her throat.
“No, Craig,” she replied.
“I’m simply waiting for the final curtain to rise.”
The sleek Rolls-Royce that picked Greg and Heather up from their luxury hotel was not merely a car.
It was a silent, velvet-lined cocoon that smelled heavily of old, untouchable money.
As they wound their way slowly up the steep cliffside road toward the Sapphire Palace, the sheer scale of Valoria hit Greg for the very first time.
Here, wealth was measured in centuries of history.
“Look at this,” Heather whispered in awe.
She pressed her face against the cold glass.
“Greg, that massive gate…
is that real gold?”
“Solid gold,” Greg replied, though his throat suddenly felt incredibly tight.
He nervously adjusted his tight bow tie.
He had compulsively checked his bank accounts on the private flight over.
They were entirely empty.
Everything he owned was entirely gone.
It’s just for tonight, he repeatedly told himself.
I sign the massive deal, I get the deposit fully refunded.
Tomorrow morning, I will be the richest man in the logistics industry.
The car finally rolled to a smooth stop in the breathtaking Courtyard of Lions.
A massive, ornate fountain the size of an Olympic swimming pool roared powerfully in the center.
Bright searchlights elegantly swept across the dark night sky.
“Showtime,” Greg muttered.
They stepped out of the luxury vehicle.
They moved purposefully toward the massive, heavily carved oak doors.
A stern Master of Ceremonies stood there, carefully reviewing a thick leather ledger.
“Name?” the man asked.
“Greg Lawson,” Greg announced loudly.
“CEO of Lawson Global.
I’m an official finalist.”
The man ran a gloved finger slowly down the thick parchment page.
“Ah, yes, Mr.
Lawson,” the man noted dryly.
“You have been fully cleared for the outer circle.”
“Outer circle?”
Greg bristled.
“I’m here for the main event.”
“All guests must enter exclusively through the Grand Hall,” the man said smoothly.
He waved him through with a dismissive gesture.
Inside, the vast palace was an absolute sensory overload of wealth.
Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung precariously from the beautifully frescoed ceilings.
Greg quickly grabbed two crystal flutes from a passing silver tray and downed one immediately to calm his nerves.
“We need to find the actual decision-maker,” Greg whispered urgently to Heather.
They desperately navigated the dense crowd.
Greg tried repeatedly to strike up conversations, but he quickly realized he was entirely out of his depth.
A sudden, heavy hush aggressively fell over the massive room.
The polite chatter died instantly.
At the very top of the grand marble staircase, two men in ceremonial gold uniforms stepped forward with long, gleaming trumpets.
They blew a powerful, resonant fanfare.
Craig stepped proudly onto the landing.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Craig’s voice boomed effortlessly.
“Pray absolute silence for Her Majesty, the Queen Matriarch Megan.”
The entire crowd instantly bowed their heads in deep respect.
The old woman walked out slowly, leaning heavily on her diamond cane.
“And,” Craig continued, his voice steadily rising in volume.
“The primary hostess of the evening, the strict chair of the Royal Selection Committee, the High Stewardess of the Realm.
Her Royal Highness, Princess Brenda of Valoria.”
Greg completely froze in place.
Princess who?
At the top of the grand stairs, the massive double doors swung open heavily.
A woman confidently stepped out into the brilliant chandelier light.
She was wearing a stunning gown of deep midnight blue velvet that hugged every elegant curve.
It was intricately embroidered with thousands of tiny, flawless diamonds.
On her head sat the Valorian sapphire tiara.
She looked slowly down at the massive sea of faces with cool, imperious detachment.
Greg blinked hard.
The woman slowly began to descend the wide marble stairs.
As she got closer, her facial features became agonizingly clearer.
The familiar curve of the jaw.
The exact shape of the nose.
The deep brown eyes that he had casually looked into for five years and entirely dismissed.
Greg’s crystal champagne glass slipped completely from his numb fingers.
It violently shattered on the hard marble floor.
Heather gasped loudly, her manicured hand flying up to cover her mouth.
It was Brenda.
But it was not the Brenda who meticulously clipped grocery coupons to save a few dollars.
This was a magnificent creature of immense, terrifying, and absolute beauty.
She reached the bottom of the long staircase.
The massive crowd respectfully parted for her precisely like the Red Sea.
She finally stopped exactly ten feet from where Greg stood.
She slowly turned her head, her dark eyes locking intensely onto his pale face.
“Welcome to Valoria,” she said smoothly.
Her voice was heavily amplified by the perfect acoustics of the grand hall.
“I trust the long flight over was comfortable.”
The suffocating silence in the grand hall was absolute and unbroken.
Three hundred of the world’s most powerful, wealthy people were watching them intently.
Greg literally couldn’t breathe.
“Brenda,” he croaked pathetically.
“Her Royal Highness,” Craig corrected sharply, stepping up defensively beside her.
Brenda raised a single, elegantly gloved hand to immediately silence Craig.
“Mr.
Lawson,” she said smoothly.
“I see you received the exclusive invitation.
And you brought a lovely guest.”
She looked slowly over at Heather.
Heather shrank back completely in terror.
“I…
I don’t understand,” Greg stammered weakly.
“You’re a simple florist.
You’re from Queens.”
“I temporarily lived in Queens,” Brenda corrected him smoothly.
“And I lived simply because I deeply wanted to see if a man could truly love me for me, and not for…” She gestured grandly to the massive palace.
“This.”
She took a highly deliberate step closer to him.
“You failed that fundamental test, Greg.
Spectacularly.”
The massive crowd immediately began to murmur in hushed, excited tones.
Greg felt the massive stone walls rapidly closing in on him.
“Brenda, Your Highness,” Greg said, forcing a highly unnatural, nervous laugh.
“Surely we can keep highly personal matters entirely separate from business.
I’m here exclusively for business.
Lawson Global is the absolute best choice for—”
“Lawson Global is a highly unstable house of cards,” Brenda aggressively interrupted.
She signaled smoothly to a nearby aide, who instantly projected a massive holographic screen onto the high wall behind her.
It vividly displayed a deeply alarming financial chart.
“I have personally reviewed your aggressive proposal, Mr.
Lawson,” she announced loudly.
“You confidently claim full solvency.
Yet my royal auditors discovered that to merely pay the good faith deposit required for tonight’s attendance, you completely liquidated ninety percent of your personal assets.
You also took out a highly predatory bridge loan directly against your company’s physical fleet.”
Greg’s knees began to shake violently.
“That’s…
that’s just standard corporate leveraging,” he argued weakly.
“It shows absolute recklessness,” Brenda countered sharply.
“You foolishly gambled your employees’ actual livelihoods on a deeply desperate vanity project.
You are absolutely not a CEO, Mr.
Lawson.
You are a desperate gambler who is currently entirely out of chips.”
She turned gracefully to face the massive crowd of onlookers.
“The Kingdom of Valoria strictly requires highly reliable partners with undeniable integrity.
We absolutely do not do highly important business with weak men who quickly discard deep loyalty the exact moment something shinier comes along.”
Greg finally realized exactly what was happening in this room.
This was a completely inescapable public execution.
“Brenda, please,” he hissed desperately.
“Let’s just talk about this in private.
I truly loved you.”
“Did you?”
Brenda asked coldly.
“Or did you simply love having a quiet maid you fundamentally didn’t have to pay a salary?”
She looked sharply over at Heather.
“And you, Miss Banks?
You aggressively wanted to be half of a true power couple.
Tell me honestly, does he truly look powerful to you right now?”
Heather looked over at Greg in complete disgust.
He was sweating profusely, his pale face a desperate mask of absolute terror.
“I…
I didn’t know,” Heather whispered desperately to Brenda.
“I swear, Your Highness, I didn’t know who you actually were.”
“Ignorance is absolutely not a valid defense,” Brenda stated coldly.
“Wait,” Greg shouted loudly, pure panic finally taking full control of his mind.
“The massive deposit, the one hundred million dollars.
If you formally reject the corporate bid, I get it entirely back, right?”
Brenda smiled slowly.
The cold, calculated diamond smile.
“Craig,” she said clearly.
“Please read the fine print of the exclusive invitation Mr.
Lawson eagerly signed.”
Craig crisply opened a dark leather folder.
“Clause fourteen, section B,” Craig read loudly.
“In the event that any finalist is found to have purposefully misrepresented their absolute financial stability or moral standing, the entire good faith deposit shall be immediately forfeited to the Royal Charity Fund.”
Greg’s heart completely stopped beating in his chest.
“Forfeited?” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
“You absolutely can’t do that to me.
You’re illegally stealing from me.”
“I am absolutely not stealing,” Brenda clarified calmly.
“I am simply collecting a necessary tax on your sheer arrogance.
You eagerly tried to divorce your seemingly poor wife, Greg.
You desperately wanted me to quietly disappear forever.”
She spread her arms grandly.
“Well, here I proudly am, and now you are the one left with absolutely nothing.”
She snapped her gloved fingers sharply.
“Guards, physically escort Mr.
Lawson and his cheap guest completely off the royal premises.
They are currently trespassing.”
Two incredibly massive royal guards stepped forward and violently grabbed Greg by his upper arms.
“No, you absolutely can’t do this to me!”
Greg struggled wildly.
“Brenda!
I’m so sorry!
We can completely fix this mess!”
Heather shrieked in pure rage as a guard firmly took her arm.
“You arrogant bastard!” she yelled violently at Greg.
She violently slapped him hard across his pale face as they were both forcefully dragged backward.
“You explicitly told me you had this massive deal in the bag!”
Brenda stood entirely still, watching them go.
Eventually, the incredibly heavy oak doors slammed shut with a deafening thud, completely silencing their pathetic noise.
She stood entirely alone in the exact center of the vast room.
The intense silence stretched out for a long, heavy moment.
And then, the German shipping magnate slowly began to clap his hands.
Slowly, the entire massive room eagerly joined in.
It was a highly polite, deeply respectful applause, formally acknowledging her sheer power, fully acknowledging their absolute queen.
Brenda took a deep, deeply cleansing breath.
She didn’t feel cheap triumph.
She felt absolute, permanent closure.
The heavy iron gates of the Sapphire Palace clicked shut with extreme finality.
Outside the walls, the harsh wind whipped viciously off the dark Mediterranean Sea.
Greg Lawson stood helplessly in the cold dirt, his incredibly expensive tuxedo jacket visibly torn at the shoulder.
Beside him, Heather was violently shivering.
“Call a private car immediately!”
Heather snapped viciously.
“Get us completely out of here right now.”
Greg frantically fumbled for his cell phone in his pockets.
He dropped the expensive device twice in the dirt.
“No cell service,” he whispered in deep despair.
Heather let out a loud, piercing scream of sheer frustration.
She turned violently on him.
“This is entirely your fault, Greg!”
“Shut up, Heather!”
Greg roared back at her.
“I just permanently lost one hundred million dollars tonight.
My entire logistics company is entirely gone.”
“And whose fault is that exactly?”
Heather hissed.
“You were legally married to an incredibly wealthy princess for five long years, Greg.
If you had just been halfway decent to her, we would be inside that palace drinking vintage champagne right now.”
She violently spat on the dirty ground right near his incredibly expensive Italian shoes.
A basic local taxi suddenly appeared far down the winding dirt road.
Heather frantically flagged it down in the dark.
As she aggressively opened the rear door, Greg desperately moved to get in right beside her.
“No,” Heather said coldly.
She violently slammed her manicured hand hard against his chest.
“I am going straight to the local airport.
I am going directly back to New York.”
“Heather, please don’t be totally crazy,” Greg pleaded.
Heather laughed directly in his face, her tone incredibly cold and utterly cruel.
“I exclusively date absolute winners, Greg.
You are clearly not a winner anymore.”
She slid quickly into the warm cab and slammed the door shut.
The car aggressively peeled away, completely leaving Greg Lawson standing entirely alone in the freezing dark.
Three extremely long days later, the stark reality of his bleak situation set in with brutal, unwavering efficiency.
Greg was firmly stuck in a cheap budget motel on the dingy outskirts of the Valorian capital city.
His massive corporate accounts were completely frozen by the SEC back in New York due to severe, highly illegal irregularities regarding the desperate bridge loan.
He was effectively, permanently stranded in Valoria with absolutely no cash.
But Greg Lawson firmly believed he was the one who had been aggressively scammed.
He sat heavily on the edge of the incredibly lumpy motel mattress, intensely staring at a crumpled copy of his divorce decree.
A slow, highly manic grin rapidly spread completely across his unshaven face.
He aggressively grabbed the cheap motel landline and quickly dialed the local number of an international law firm.
“I want to aggressively sue,” Greg shouted loudly the exact moment a sleepy lawyer picked up the line.
“We were legally married for five full years.
Under standard international law, I am absolutely entitled to half of all her earnings accumulated during our legal marriage.
She has a massive trust fund.
I legally own exactly half of that money.”
“Come to my office immediately, Mr.
Lawson,” the lawyer replied.
An hour later, Greg stormed aggressively into the pristine office of DuPont and Associates.
He violently slammed the crumpled divorce papers directly onto the expensive desk.
“She completely played me,” Greg told the lead lawyer, a highly sharp-eyed man.
“I formally demand exactly half of her massive trust.”
The lawyer calmly adjusted his reading glasses and carefully picked up the thick legal document.
He read it in complete, agonizing silence for five incredibly long minutes.
Finally, the lawyer slowly put the thick paper down.
He looked directly at Greg with a strange mixture of deep pity and sheer amusement.
“Mr.
Lawson,” the lawyer said slowly.
“Did you personally read the strict separation of assets clause?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Greg waved his hand dismissively.
“I explicitly put it in there so she absolutely couldn’t ever touch my massive shipping company.
I desperately wanted a totally clean break.
Absolutely no alimony, and absolutely no legal asset discovery.”
“Exactly,” the lawyer agreed smoothly.
“You desperately wanted to completely protect your massive wealth from a seemingly poor woman.
So you aggressively drafted a completely ironclad legal waiver.
You explicitly waived your absolute right to legally investigate her financial holdings.
You explicitly waived your absolute right to demand any spousal support ever.”
Greg completely froze in his chair.
“But…
but I didn’t actually know she was incredibly rich,” he stammered weakly.
“It changes absolutely nothing,” the lawyer stated firmly, decisively closing the thick file.
“The signed contract is entirely, completely valid.
By desperately trying to be incredibly greedy and deny her a single penny of your money, you legally denied yourself exactly one billion dollars of hers.
You completely outsmarted yourself, Mr.
Lawson.”
Greg sat completely paralyzed.
He had meticulously built the brutal trap entirely by himself.
Every single cruel legal clause he had aggressively inserted to deeply hurt Brenda was now a solid iron bar securely across his own personal prison cell.
Before he could desperately attempt to argue further, the heavy wooden door to the office violently swung open.
Two heavily armed, uniformed officers from the Valorian Royal Police confidently stepped right in.
“Greg Lawson?” the lead officer asked sternly.
“What now?”
Greg slumped weakly in his chair.
“We have a massive international warrant for your immediate arrest officially issued by the United States Department of Justice.
It contains massive charges of severe bank fraud, massive embezzlement, and completely falsifying corporate assets to illegally secure the massive loan for your royal good faith deposit.”
Greg stood up slowly, his weak legs shaking violently underneath him.
“But I can definitely pay it back,” he pleaded desperately.
“Just desperately give me more time.”
“You have absolutely no time, sir,” the officer stated coldly.
“And you have absolutely no money.”
The strong officer roughly handcuffed Greg’s wrists tightly behind his back.
As they forcefully dragged him out of the pristine office, Greg caught a brief, agonizing glimpse of a large television screen mounted in the waiting room.
It was a massive live broadcast of the grand royal gala’s incredible conclusion.
There on the bright screen was Brenda.
She wasn’t wearing a heavy royal crown or arrogantly sitting on a massive throne.
She was standing peacefully in the beautiful royal gardens, wearing a very simple, elegant white dress and holding a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers.
She looked absolutely radiant.
She looked completely free.
A serious news reporter on the screen was speaking clearly into a microphone.
“Her Royal Highness has officially announced that the one hundred million dollars recently forfeited from a completely disqualified bidder will be used immediately.
It will be used to heavily fund the newly created Brenda Foundation.
It is a massive charity fully dedicated to providing free legal aid and safe housing for women brutally abandoned by their wealthy spouses.”
Greg watched helplessly as the very woman he repeatedly called plain and completely simple was loudly cheered by thousands of adoring people.
She didn’t look aggressively angry at all.
She looked exactly like she had already completely forgotten he ever existed.
The police forcefully shoved Greg into the cramped back seat of their dark cruiser.
As the police car rapidly drove away, forcefully taking him toward a deeply bleak future of cold prison cells and total, permanent ruin, Greg finally realized the absolute truth.
He had completely thrown away a priceless diamond precisely because he was too utterly stupid to recognize its sheer, unbelievable value.
THE END
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Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. If you would like to share your story, please send it to [email protected].
