Chapter 12 - The Poison Pill
I did not open Madison’s folder. I didn't need to.
Ten minutes after she was escorted out of the building, I sat in the conference room with Elena and Marcus, the lead corporate attorney I kept on retainer. The rain continued to batter the glass walls, but inside, the atmosphere was charged with clinical, hyper-focused energy.
“Jason is trying to claim you engineered the offshore accounts,” Marcus said, pacing the length of the room. He was a sharp, pragmatic man who had helped me navigate the divorce three years ago. “It’s a desperate play. The DOJ already cleared your financials during the initial Northstar investigation. But if Jason has fabricated a paper trail, the SEC will be forced to open a preliminary inquiry. It could temporarily freeze Sullivan Strategic’s operational accounts.”
“He doesn't care if it sticks,” Elena observed, her arms crossed tightly. “He just wants to bleed you. He wants to see your name in a subpoena. It’s about control.”
“He is sitting in a federal penitentiary,” I said, staring at the digital whiteboard. “He has limited phone access and zero internet. He cannot fabricate a complex financial paper trail from a cell block. Someone on the outside is moving the pieces for him.”
I thought about Madison. She was too panicked, too legally illiterate to be orchestrating a frame-up. Jason had used her as a mule for the documents, nothing more.
“Marcus,” I said, turning to him. “When we finalized the divorce and the Northstar settlement, Jason’s personal assets were liquidated to pay the federal fines. But there was one entity the SEC couldn't touch because it was registered as an impenetrable blind trust in the Caymans. The 'Aura Trust'.”
Marcus nodded slowly. “Yes. We couldn't prove he was the beneficiary, so the judge couldn't seize it.”
“Madison just told me she signed documents as a trustee for an offshore LLC,” I continued, the architecture of Jason’s deception coming into sharp focus. “She wasn't managing the money. She was the signatory dummy for the Aura Trust. Jason is using that trust to pay a shadow firm to fabricate documents against me.”
“To shut him down, we need the original cipher for the Aura Trust,” Marcus said grimly. “We need to prove Jason is the sole beneficiary. But the encryption on Cayman trusts is military-grade. Unless you have the twelve-word seed phrase, you can’t open the ledger.”
“And only Jason has the phrase,” Elena said, her face falling. “Rebecca, he will never give it to you. It’s his last remaining lifeline.”
My phone buzzed on the table. It was Nathan.
“Dinner is ready. Thai takeout. Don’t stay at the office until midnight trying to save the world. - N”
I looked at the text. A wave of profound warmth washed over me. Three years ago, a crisis involving Jason would have isolated me in a spiral of anxiety. Today, I had a man waiting for me who didn't care about the billions; he cared about whether I was eating.
“I’m not staying until midnight,” I said aloud, picking up my phone.
“What’s the play?” Marcus asked. “Do we file an injunction against Madison to force her to testify about the trust?”
“No. Madison is useless. She doesn't have the cipher.” I slung my coat over my arm. “I am going to get it from the source.”
Elena’s eyes widened. “You are going to visit him? Rebecca, no. That is exactly what he wants. He wants you to sit across from him so he can feel powerful again.”
“He only feels powerful if I am afraid of him,” I replied, my voice steady, stripped of all emotion. “He thinks he has planted a bomb under my company. He expects me to beg him to defuse it.”
I walked toward the door.
“Call the warden at the Federal Correctional Institution in Milan. Arrange a legal visitation for tomorrow morning. I am going to remind Jason that the woman he married died three years ago.”
That night, I sat on the floor of Nathan’s living room, eating Pad Thai straight from the carton. A fire crackled in the hearth. Nathan sat beside me, his long legs stretched out, listening quietly as I explained the situation.
He didn't interrupt. He didn't offer unsolicited advice on how to handle Jason. He didn't puff up his chest and threaten to go to the prison himself.
When I finished, he set his carton down and looked at me.
“Are you anxious about seeing him?” Nathan asked.
“I thought I would be,” I admitted, leaning my head against his shoulder. “But I just feel… annoyed. Like I have to deal with a leaky pipe in a house I sold three years ago.”
Nathan laughed, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated against me. He kissed the top of my head.
“You’re going to walk in there, freeze the blood in his veins, and walk out,” Nathan said. “Because you are Rebecca Sullivan. And he is just a guy in an orange jumpsuit.”
“You’re very confident in my intimidation skills.”
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“I’ve seen you negotiate with venture capitalists, Rebecca. Jason doesn't stand a chance.”
I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the fire and the safety of Nathan’s presence anchor me. I was not walking into that prison to fight for my life. I was walking in to clean up the trash.
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