“Fine,” I said.
He frowned, almost disappointed that I wasn’t putting up a fight. “And since you requested primary custody of the girls, they’re your responsibility. I’ll see them whenever my work schedule permits.”
Even the divorce attorney looked up from his desk. “They’re your daughters, Mark. Not dentist appointments you fit between meetings.”
Mark just shrugged. “I’m starting a new life. Chloe is having a baby. Things are going to change.”
Patricia, who had come along to support her brother, offered a tight smile. “Maybe it’s for the best, Elena. Mark can finally have the family he always wanted.”
I turned slowly to face her. “Mark already had a family.”
No one answered.
Mark rolled his eyes. “Here comes the drama.”
I reached into my handbag, pulled out the key fobs for both the penthouse and the SUV, and set them quietly on the mahogany desk. “Keep both.”
His expression shifted immediately. He looked like a man convinced he had just won the ultimate victory.
I stood up, adjusted my coat, and walked toward the door. Before stepping out into the hallway, I paused and looked back over my shoulder.
“Just remember one thing, Mark.”
“What’s that?”
“Having the keys to something doesn’t mean you own it.”
The smirk vanished from his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I didn’t answer. I walked straight out of the office.
Down on the street, a black luxury sedan with a private driver was idling at the curb. And in less than four hours, my daughters and I would be on a flight out of the country.
What Mark didn’t know yet was that the penthouse where he planned to install his new mistress, the SUV he bragged about owning, and a massive portion of the lavish lifestyle he believed he built with his own money had never belonged to him in the first place.
PART 2
“Are you going to Spain?!”
I heard Mark’s voice shouting behind me as I reached the sidewalk. He had hurried out of the building to catch up.
The driver held the rear door open while Mark stared at the black sedan, then glared at me.
“The girls are already at the airport,” I replied calmly. “Our flight leaves this afternoon.”
His face contorted in anger. “You can’t take my daughters out of the country without my legal authorization!”
“You signed the international relocation consent three weeks ago.”
Mark opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.
During the settlement negotiations, he had been so distracted talking to Chloe and arranging his new life that he had signed dozens of custody attachments without reading a single line.
“Where are you going to live?!” he demanded.
“Madrid.”
“And where did you get the money for all of this?!”
That single question summed up our entire twelve-year marriage.
Mark knew that before we married, I had worked in corporate strategy. He also knew that my grandfather, Ernesto Sterling, had founded a regional logistics firm years ago.
What Mark had never bothered to investigate was what happened after my grandfather passed.
Sterling Logistics had expanded over decades into a global supply-chain conglomerate with major distribution hubs across the United States, Spain, France, and Western Europe. After my grandfather’s death, his controlling shares were secured inside a private family trust.
I was one of the primary beneficiaries.
For years, Mark had believed that the luxury penthouse where we lived was secured through one of his commercial real estate contacts. In reality, the building was owned by a holding company managed directly by my family’s trust.
