Chapter 2
Chapter 2
PART 3: The private jet had barely left the runway when Aaron’s phone began ringing nonstop. His CFO, Marcus, stood across from him with a face that had turned completely pale. “Mr. Prescott, the emergency funding wasn’t a simple investment,” he said carefully. “Those agreements gave Alyssa’s family control over the patents if the conditions were violated.”
Aaron stared at him. “What conditions?” His voice was suddenly much quieter. Marcus swallowed hard and opened another document. “One of them was that the intellectual property could not be transferred, pledged, or controlled in a way that materially harmed Alyssa’s interests.” The entire cabin went silent.
Aaron’s mother immediately blamed me. “She planned this!” she snapped. “She waited until you were successful, then decided to destroy everything.” But Marcus shook his head. “Mrs. Prescott, the documents were signed four years ago. Mr. Prescott knew about them.”
Aaron suddenly remembered.
He remembered the night his company had almost collapsed. He had been sitting alone in his office, staring at unpaid invoices and rejection letters from every major lender. Then I had walked in with a folder and quietly told him that everything would be okay.
I had never demanded a thank-you. I had never asked for shares, a title, or public recognition. I simply told him, “Build something incredible. One day, you’ll understand why I believed in you.” Aaron had promised me that he would never forget what I had done.
But somewhere along the way, success had changed him.
His CFO opened one final email. “There’s more, sir.” Aaron looked up sharply. “What else?” Marcus hesitated before answering. “The board has received notice that Mrs. Prescott is exercising her voting rights under the original shareholder agreement.”
Jasmine’s smile disappeared.
Aaron immediately grabbed his phone and called me. The call went straight to voicemail. He tried again, then again, but I refused to answer. Finally, a message appeared on his screen: “Alyssa, we need to talk.”
I looked at the message from the back seat of my family’s car and smiled without answering. For four years, whenever Aaron needed something, I had dropped everything and come running. Now, for the first time, he was going to wait.
Then my lawyer placed another folder beside me. “There’s one last matter,” she said. “If you approve this, Aaron won’t just lose control of the company. He’ll have to face the people he humiliated while believing you had no power.”
I opened the folder and read the first page. My expression slowly hardened. It contained evidence of every major decision Aaron had made after Jasmine became his secretary—payments, private accounts, and several transactions he had hidden from the board.
I closed the folder and looked out the window. “Prepare the meeting,” I said calmly. “Tomorrow morning, I’m going back to Prescott Technologies.”
This time, I wouldn’t be entering as Aaron’s wife. I would be entering as the woman who had quietly built the foundation beneath his empire—and was finally ready to decide what remained standing.
The private jet climbed steadily into the stormy evening sky, but inside the pressurized cabin, the suffocating atmosphere felt far more volatile than the turbulent air outside the thick double windows.
Aaron slumped against the soft Italian leather seat, his manicured fingers trembling visibly around his heavy gold smartphone as another frantic alert lit the dark screen with devastating financial updates.
Beside him, Jasmine shrank deeper into the sheepskin cushions, clutching her silk scarf with fingers that had suddenly turned ice-cold as the reality of the legal disaster dawned upon her.
Marcus remained standing rigidly in the aisle, clutching his tablet like a protective shield, his professional posture doing little to disguise the dread that had completely hollowed out his gaunt face.
Aaron's mother, Evelyn, dabbed nervously at her forehead with a lace handkerchief, her shrill complaints about my alleged betrayal dying down into a breathless, terrifying realization of what was truly coming next.
The executives seated in the rows behind them exchanged horrified glances, whispering among themselves as company share values plummeted on international pre-market boards following the formal patent withdrawal filings.
Ten thousand feet above the dark coastline, Aaron stared at the emergency communications channel, realizing with mounting horror that the aircraft's satellite navigation system was overriding its scheduled corporate route.
Up in the cockpit, the veteran captain received a direct, encrypted instruction from the aviation management syndicate that held the operational lease on the luxurious ultra-long-range Gulfstream private jet.
Every maintenance contract, every hangar clearance, and the very airframe carrying Prescott Technologies’ top executives belonged entirely to the Vance Global Maritime and Aerospace Trust, controlled by my family.
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The aircraft banked sharply toward the south, veering far away from Aaron’s planned celebratory weekend at the private island retreat where he had intended to announce Jasmine’s corporate promotion.
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