Chapter 3 - The Ambush at the Penthouse
Five days after abandoning us, Julian finally decided to return to New York.
He didn't come to the hospital. He didn't even call to ask if Leo was alive. He took a private car straight from Teterboro Airport to our TriBeCa penthouse.
I was sitting in the living room, wearing a simple black dress, calmly sipping a cup of tea. Marcus, my attorney, was sitting in the leather armchair in the corner, holding a thick briefcase.
The front doors of the penthouse opened. Julian swaggered in, deeply tanned, radiating an energized, obnoxious confidence. He was hauling three massive designer shopping bags from luxury boutiques in St. Barts.
“Babe, the water on the yacht was unbelievable,” Julian called out, kicking the door shut behind him. He sounded as if he had just returned from a grueling hedge-fund conference instead of vanishing with his mistress while my world collapsed.
He walked into the living room, dropping the shopping bags on the glass coffee table. Then, he glanced toward the hallway leading to the nursery. He saw the empty crib through the open door, and the smug confidence instantly drained from his face, replaced by a flicker of confusion.
“Where’s Leo?” he asked, looking back at me.
For the first time in our marriage, I didn't rush to comfort him. I let the silence stretch out, heavy and suffocating, watching him squirm under the weight of his own profound guilt.
"He's at Mount Sinai," I said softly, setting my teacup down. "He was on a ventilator for three days fighting a severe respiratory infection. He almost died, Julian."
Julian’s jaw dropped. All the color washed out of his sun-kissed face. "What? Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you tell me?!"
"I called you twenty-six times," I replied, my voice echoing coldly in the massive apartment. "Before my phone died. Before I realized you had frozen the joint accounts, leaving me with no money to even hail a cab to the emergency room. My neighbor had to call 911."
"Victoria, I... I was in London!" Julian stammered, his eyes darting frantically around the room, trying to spin the lie he had rehearsed. "The merger negotiations were intense! I had my phone turned off in the boardroom!"
Marcus stood up from the armchair, stepping into the light. "Actually, Julian, the flight manifest from your chartered Gulfstream shows you landed in St. Barts on Friday afternoon. And the geotags on Sloane’s private Instagram account confirm you were on a yacht drinking Dom Pérignon while your son was crashing in the ICU."
Julian stumbled backward, looking at Marcus as if he were a ghost. "Who the hell are you? Get out of my penthouse!"
"I am Marcus Sterling, your wife's legal counsel," Marcus said smoothly, opening his briefcase and pulling out a stack of documents. "And technically, this is no longer your penthouse. The judge granted an emergency ex-parte order this morning. You have been legally evicted, and your access to the marital assets has been entirely frozen."
"You can't do that!" Julian shouted, turning to me, his panic morphing into vicious, cornered rage. "The prenuptial agreement protects my assets! You get nothing, Victoria! I'll bury you in court! I'll take my son and leave you with nothing!"
"Your son?" I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that stopped him dead in his tracks. "You abandoned your son to die so you could sleep with a subordinate. The judge has already granted me sole physical and legal custody. You are permitted supervised visitation for one hour a month, pending a psychological evaluation."
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I stood up, walking slowly toward the man I had once loved, feeling absolutely nothing but contempt.
"And as for your assets," I continued, leaning in close so he could hear the absolute finality in my voice. "The prenuptial agreement is void in cases of severe financial fraud and embezzlement. Which is exactly what the SEC and the FBI are currently investigating you for."
