Page 15 of Power Games

“If Charles runs, Tristan is in for a fair bit of competition.”

“Aren’t you projecting? If Charles runs, it could be in eight years. Or twelve, or sixteen.”

“No. I don’t peg him as the kind of man who’d wait.”

Nor did she.

Fuck.

“Dad, have a brandy, and chill. The sky isn’t falling until you see it.”

“The sky’s always falling, Nessie.”

6

A New Direction

Charles pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it before opening his messaging app. Then, he stared at the screen blankly, as he had the last dozen times he'd done just that over the course of the last three days.

Yes, he realized that he was acting like a teenager, stressing out about talking to a popular girl at school.

Except, it wasn't shyness that prevented him from starting a conversation with Vanessa. It was practicality and decorum.

"Mr. Grant? Barrett is ready for you now."

Clutching the folder he held, Charles got up from the uncomfortable waiting seat and walked in his lawyer's office.

It was long overdue. He almost felt ashamed to have waited for so long.

Barrettgreeted him with a firm handshake and offered refreshments. Then, the down-to-earth, no-nonsense attorney was done with civilities.

"What can I do for you, man?"

Barrett handled his personal affairs, not the company's; they didn't need to meet very often in a professional setting. More often than not, they just hung out with a beer and a football game in the background, hence the informality. They'd met in college and remained in contact.

"For a start, I'd love if you could try not to yell at me after you hear what I have to say."

Barrett laughed. "You are paying me four figures per hour. I sure as hell can control my volume level for that price tag."

"Good man. All right. I need to divorce Izzy, but we don't have a prenup."

The lawyer stared in absolute silence.

"Barrett?" Charles prompted.

"I'm attempting to not yell."

Charles winced. "She was eighteen, I was nineteen, we were both broke as fuck, and I never, ever expected I'd inherit Quinn's business."

Barrett sighed. "Fair enough. Well, first of all, how much are you prepared to pay her?"

"A fair amount," said Charles. "Just not half of my assets."

He did get why some spouses deserved that. The housewives who sacrificed their own lives to take care of their partners’ homes, their kids, and attended functions with them, deserved to get fat checks when their husbands decided to trade them for younger models. Housewivesworked.Izzy hadn't even tried to help him in any way. Hewouldmake sure she was comfortable; she could keep the apartment, and get seven or eight figures. But she wasn't touching the company's assets, or his shares.

He explained that to Barrett, who remained stoic through his speech, taking the occasional note.

"All right, I'm not going to lie. It's going to be an ugly battle. If she's smart, she's going to hire the best divorce lawyer she can find. You should too, and honestly, that's not me. I'll give you the details of a shark. It's going to be fucking bloody, so you need one. Be prepared to lose an arm and a leg."

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