Standing in the dimly lit hall was Harrison, my attorney, looking impeccably dressed and entirely unbothered.
“What do you want?” Bradley snarled. “Come to gloat?”
“I come bearing paperwork,” Harrison said smoothly, slipping past Bradley into the apartment without an invitation. He placed a sleek black folder on the glass coffee table.
“I have nothing left for you to take,” Bradley spat, running a trembling hand through his messy hair.
“On the contrary,” Harrison replied, unbuttoning his suit jacket. “I am here to offer you a way out of federal prison.”
Bradley froze. “What?”
“Sarah is not a cruel woman. She is a precise one,” Harrison explained. “The embezzlement charges carry a potential ten-year sentence. However, if you sign these documents, surrendering your remaining equity in the company to Sarah as part of the divorce settlement, she will recant the federal complaint, classifying the transfers as a ‘marital misunderstanding’.”
Bradley stared at the folder as if it were a venomous snake. “She wants my company.”
“She already has your company, Bradley. The board of directors held an emergency vote an hour ago. They reviewed the evidence we provided.” Harrison smiled, a terrifying, predatory grin. “You have been officially terminated as CEO, effective immediately. Sign the papers, walk away with nothing, and stay out of a cell. That is the only deal on the table.”
Bradley’s knees buckled. He fell onto the sofa, staring at the pen Harrison held out to him. His phone on the table suddenly illuminated. An email notification popped up on the locked screen.
Sender: Hope Reproductive Clinic. Subject: URGENT – RUSH DNA RESULTS ATTACHED.
The neon glow of the city filtered through the blinds, casting prison-bar shadows across Bradley’s face. He ignored Harrison, his shaking fingers reaching for his phone. He opened the email from the clinic, his heart hammering violently against his ribs.
He scrolled past the medical jargon, his eyes searching for the final conclusion. There it was, in bold, unforgiving text:
Probability of Paternity: 0.00%
Bradley stared at the zeros. The air left his lungs in a ragged gasp. It wasn’t his. All of it—the cheating, the lies, the destruction of his family, the millions of dollars stolen and spent—was for another man’s child. Tiffany had played him for a fool.
He dropped the phone. It shattered against the hardwood floor, a fitting metaphor for his life.
Harrison stood patiently, offering the pen once more. “I assume the news was not to your liking. Sign the papers, Bradley. It’s over.”
With a numb, mechanical movement, Bradley took the pen. He signed away his equity, his legacy, and his future. Harrison gathered the documents, nodded curtly, and let himself out, leaving Bradley alone in the ruins of his own making.
An hour later, the front door unlocked. Tiffany stepped in, dragging a small suitcase. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked at Bradley with a mixture of fear and defiance.
“I tried to call you,” she whispered, lingering in the foyer.
Bradley remained seated in the dark. “I got the results.”
Tiffany flinched. She looked down at the floor, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Bradley… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know for sure. It was my ex-boyfriend. It happened right before we became exclusive. Please… you’re the only one who can take care of us.”
Bradley stood up slowly. The rage that had been boiling inside him had burned itself out, leaving only cold, dead ash. He walked toward her, stopping inches from her face.
“You have exactly thirty seconds to take your bag and get out of my sight,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “If you are still in this apartment when I count to thirty, I will throw you off the balcony.”
