Chapter 10 - RYAN'S OFFER
Ryan requested a settlement meeting through his attorney.
Rebecca advised against it.
I insisted.
Not because I wanted peace.
Because I wanted to see what he believed he still possessed.
We met through video conference.
Ryan appeared from his attorney’s office.
He had shaved.
His hair was combed.
He wore the navy suit I bought him for our second anniversary.
Seeing it made me angry in a surprisingly petty way.
He began before his lawyer could.
“Claire, I’m sorry.”
I said nothing.
“I should have protected you.”
“Yes.”
“I panicked.”
“You restrained me.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Your father burned me.”
“I know.”
“Our daughter was inside me.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“You called it a warning.”
His eyes opened.
He had not known I heard Madison’s recording.
For one perfect second, fear crossed his face.
Then the lawyer leaned toward him.
“Ryan, don’t respond.”
I smiled.
“Listen to your attorney.”
Ryan ignored him.
“Madison is lying.”
“About your affair?”
Silence.
“About the clinic?”
Silence.
“The embryo?”
Silence.
Rebecca looked almost bored.
I loved her for that.
Ryan changed tactics.
“My father manipulated me.”
“Did he manipulate you into my bed every night while you were sleeping with Madison?”
“Claire.”
“Did he manipulate you into installing spyware?”
“That was Brooke.”
“You asked her.”
“I was scared you were hiding money.”
“My money.”
“Our marriage—”
“There is no our anymore.”
He stopped.
His attorney whispered something.
Ryan nodded.
Then the real purpose of the meeting arrived.
“We can resolve this privately.”
Rebecca laughed.
Ryan looked irritated.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Rebecca said.
Ryan continued.
“I’ll agree to the divorce.”
“How generous,” I said.
“You keep the penthouse.”
“It is already mine.”
“You keep your investment accounts.”
“They are already mine.”
“I won’t seek spousal support.”
I stared at him.
He genuinely believed this was negotiation.
“What do you want?”
Ryan hesitated.
Then his attorney answered.
“Mutual confidentiality.”
There it was.
Silence.
They wanted silence.
No public testimony beyond what prosecutors required.
No civil suit against the family businesses.
No public release of financial records.
No cooperation beyond lawful subpoenas.
And in exchange, Ryan would graciously agree not to fight for property he did not own.
I leaned toward the camera.
“No.”
Ryan’s face reddened.
“Claire, think about the baby.”
“I do constantly.”
“This publicity will follow her.”
“Your behavior will follow you.”
“My family will be destroyed.”
I looked at him for several seconds.
“You keep saying that like it’s something I’m doing.”
Ryan stood.
His attorney grabbed his sleeve.
“This is exactly what I mean!”
Rebecca remained calm.
“Sit down, Mr. Lawson.”
Ryan pointed toward the camera.
“You came into our family and acted like your money made you better than everyone.”
I almost smiled.
There he was.
The real Ryan.
“You loved my money.”
“I loved you.”
“You stole from me.”
“I was trying to save my father’s business.”
“With my assets.”
“We would have paid it back.”
“With what?”
No answer.
Rebecca slid a document toward me.
I held it up.
“Do you know what this is?”
Ryan stared.
His face drained.
It was the paperwork Rebecca had prepared that morning.
A civil complaint alleging fraud, conversion, conspiracy, unauthorized access to protected computer systems, and financial exploitation.
Ryan whispered, “Claire.”
“You wanted paperwork.”
I placed it back on the table.
“Now you have some.”
The meeting ended three minutes later.
That afternoon, we filed the lawsuit.
By sunset, three banks froze Crestmont’s remaining accounts.
Grant’s company missed payroll.
The Aspen mortgage entered default review.
Two luxury vehicle lenders issued recovery notices.
And just before midnight, Rebecca called me with one more discovery.
Grant’s failing company did not owe six million dollars.
It owed nine.
And one of the creditors was not a bank.
It was a man named Victor Hale.
A private lender with a criminal record.
Grant had borrowed $1.8 million from him.
May you like
The repayment deadline had been January eighteenth.
One day after they planned to make me sign.
