Behind The Mask

Chapter 8: The Falling Empire

POV: Fiona

The dining room was so quiet I could hear the rain hitting the glass windows.

Camilla’s wet piece of paper lay on the expensive rug like a bomb that had just exploded. Everyone stared at it.

Then, Arthur Jordan finally snapped.

"You stupid, arrogant boy!" Arthur roared. He grabbed his heavy walking cane and slammed it against the mahogany table so hard that the crystal water glasses shook.

Maxwell jumped, his face pale white. "Grandfather, please, I can explain…"

"Explain what?!" Arthur screamed, his chest heaving as he pointed a shaking finger at Camilla. "Explain why your cheap mistress is standing in my dining room? Explain why she knows the security codes to my house? You promised me you would end this disgusting affair!"

"I did!" Maxwell lied, his voice sounding panicked and weak. He looked at the three investors sitting at the table. "Gentlemen, please. This woman is crazy. She is just angry because I cut her off."

Camilla let out a loud, ugly sob. "I am not crazy! You told me you hated your wife! You told me you only married her for the money!"

Mr. Vance, the oldest and most important investor, slowly stood up from his chair. He looked at Maxwell with complete and utter disgust. He buttoned his suit jacket, shaking his head.

"This is a circus, Maxwell," Mr. Vance said coldly. "We trusted you with billions of dollars because you promised us stability. You promised us that the Jordan name was safe. Instead, you are playing childish games with your mistress while your wife sits right next to you."

"Mr. Vance, wait," Maxwell pleaded, taking a step toward the older man. "The company is perfectly fine. My personal life will not affect the business."

"It already has," another investor, Mr. Sterling, said as he also stood up. "If you could lie to your own grandfather and cheat on your own wife, you will lie to us. We are pulling our funding, Maxwell. Effective immediately."

"What?!" Maxwell gasped, the color completely draining from his face. "No! You can't do that!"

"We just did," Mr. Vance said. He looked at Arthur. "I am sorry, Arthur. But we will not invest in a company run by a fool."

Without another word, the three powerful men turned around and walked out of the dining room, stepping right past a crying Camilla.

Maxwell looked like he had just been stabbed. He stood frozen, his mouth open, watching his entire empire crumble to dust in less than two minutes.

Arthur grabbed his chest, coughing violently. "You lost them," the old man wheezed, glaring at Maxwell with pure hatred. "You lost the investors. You ruined everything! I will freeze your shares first thing in the morning. You are done, Maxwell! You get nothing!"

Maxwell slowly turned his head. His panicked eyes finally found me.

He looked at me with wild desperation. "Fiona," he breathed. "Fiona, tell him. Tell Arthur that we are fine. Tell him you forgive me. Please, I need you."

I sat perfectly still in my chair. I looked at the powerful billionaire begging me to save him. He didn't want my love. He just wanted his money.

I slowly stood up. I smoothed down the front of my sharp black dress. I didn't look angry. I felt incredibly light, as if a heavy chain had just been taken off my neck.

I reached into my small black purse.

"I won't tell him that, Maxwell," I said softly, my voice cutting through the heavy tension in the room. "Because we are not fine. And I will never forgive you."

Maxwell’s eyes widened. "Fiona, what are you doing?"

I pulled out a folded stack of thick white papers. I tossed them onto the table. They landed right in front of him, sliding across the polished wood.

Maxwell looked down at the papers. His breath hitched.

Printed at the very top, in bold black letters, were the words: Petition for Divorce.

"I had them drawn up this morning," I said calmly. "I already signed them."

Arthur stopped coughing. Camilla stopped crying. The entire room completely froze again.

Maxwell stared at the papers as if they were covered in poison. "No," he whispered, shaking his head. "No, Fiona, you can't. You signed a contract. If you divorce me, you get nothing! You leave with no money, no house, no clothes. You will be on the street!"

"I know," I said. I looked him dead in the eye. "And I don't care. I don't want a single penny of your dirty money Maxwell. I don't want the mansion. I don't want designer shoes. You can keep it all."

I raised my left hand. I slowly slid the massive, heavy diamond wedding ring off my finger.

It was the ring he had put on my finger the day he lied to me.

I dropped the ring onto the table. It landed on top of the divorce papers with a sharp, heavy clink.

"You told me on our wedding night that I would never get your love," I said, my voice cold and steady. "Well, congratulations, Maxwell. You were right. But you don't get my life anymore."

I picked up my purse. I didn't wait for him to answer. I didn't look at Arthur, and I didn't even glance at Camilla as I walked past her.

I walked out of the dining room, down the long hallway, and pushed the heavy front doors open, stepping out into the cool, rainy night.

"Fiona!" Maxwell’s desperate voice screamed from inside the house. "Fiona, come back!"

I didn't stop walking.

I reached the bottom of the front steps just as a yellow taxi pulled up to the gate. I had ordered it an hour ago, knowing exactly how this night would end.

I opened the door and slid into the back seat.

"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

I took a deep breath of the fresh, cold air. For the first time in three years, I felt completely free.

"The airport," I told him, looking out the window as the Jordan estate disappeared behind us. "I am leaving New York."