Page 92 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

For the next forty minutes, I answer their standard questions with practiced ease. Yes, Ava and I met at her gallery showing. Yes, our relationship progressed quickly. No, there were no financial discussions before our marriage. My responses flow smoothly, the narrative we’ve rehearsed so many times now second nature.

Patterson leans forward. “It’s just curious, Mr. King, that you established this trust arrangement sosoon after the wedding. Almost as if that was the primary purpose.”

“The timing was entirely coincidental,” I reply.

“So you say.” Michaels taps her pen against her notepad. “Tell us about Ms. Redwood’s qualifications to oversee a financial structure of this magnitude.”

“Mywifeis intelligent and capable,” I say, noting their raised eyebrows at my emphasis on ‘wife.’ “She’s quick to learn and brings fresh perspective to business decisions.”

Patterson exchanges a look with Michaels. “Fresh perspective is valuable, certainly. But wouldn’t someone with actual financial experience be better suited for this role? Someone from your board, perhaps?”

Except a trust held by a board member would defeat the entire purpose of the scheme. Only a Spousal Asset Protection Trust would protect against Blackwell’s takeover attempt. But I don’t say that, of course.

I can feel my lawyer tensing beside me. He knows my tells, knows when my patience is fraying.

“Ava’s role is appropriate for the structure we’ve created,” I say flatly.

“Let’s be direct, Mr. King,” Michaels says. “We’ve seen cases like this before. Powerful men manipulated by attractive younger women. Our research shows you’ve been in this position before. Celeste Dubois, wasn’t it? The woman who cost your company nearly seventy million dollars.”

My hands clench under the table. “That situation was entirely different.”

“Was it?” Patterson asks. “Art student with significant debt. Suddenly married to one of New York’s wealthiest men, with access to extraordinaryfinancial resources. The parallels seem worth noting. We’re only trying to help you.”

“Help me?” I can feel my heart hammering in my chest. “What exactly are you implying?” The temperature in my voice drops ten degrees.

Michaels shrugs. “Only that the arrangement seems convenient. For her. Perhaps you have a blind spot when it comes to certain types of women, Mr. King.”

Something snaps inside me. The control I’ve maintained through this entire charade slips.

“That’s fucking absurd,” I spit out, ignoring my lawyer’s warning touch on my arm. “Ava isn’t manipulating anyone. She’s nothing like Celeste. Nothing. She’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met. If you knew anything about her talent, her integrity, you’d know she doesn’t need my money or connections. She’s going to succeed on her own fucking merit.”

Both investigators watch me with new interest, and I realize I’ve shown my hand.

Shit. Fuck. And shit all over again.

“You want to know the difference? Celeste approached me with an agenda.Iapproached Ava. And she literally turned down my first settlement offer,” I continue, unable to stop now. I’m not revealing anything new. They’d know about the settlement offer. It was a public filing, in case of divorce. What they don’t know is that the divorce is pre-planned. “She negotiated terms to maintain her independence. Does that sound like someone looking for an easy payday, you sick fuck?”

My lawyer clears his throat. “Perhaps we should take a short break.”

I shake my head. “No. I want to be crystal clear.” I lean forward, locking eyes with Michaels. “My wifeisn’t using me. If anything, I’m the one who benefits from this marriage. Ava challenges me, calls me on my bullshit. She sees value in things I’d overlook. She creates beauty instead of destroying it. So don’t you dare compare her to Celeste or anyone else. Question our timing all you want, but don’t insult her character. Ever. Again.”

The room falls silent. The outburst was uncharacteristic, unprofessional, and completely honest. My lawyer looks like he might have a stroke.

Patterson makes a note. “Strong feelings, Mr. King.”

I exhale slowly, regaining my composure. “Yes. For my wife. That shouldn’t be surprising.”

The rest of the interview passes in a blur of technical questions about the trust structure. When we finally finish, my lawyer pulls me aside in the hallway.

“What the hell was that?” he hisses. “You never lose control in these situations.”

I straighten my tie. “They crossed a line.”

“That was the point. They were fishing for exactly that reaction.”

“Did I say anything that compromised us legally?”

“Well, no. Ironically, your outburst probably helped your case. No one fakes that kind of indignation.”

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