“Dissipation of marital assets,” he said. “The more he spends on her, the more we can argue he’s deliberately funneling your joint money away. Judges tend to dislike that.”
On the fourth day after the lobby scene, the annual Apex Tech Charity Gala was held at the Ritz.
It was the event of the season in Steven’s world—red carpet, press coverage, a parade of expensive gowns and carefully measured philanthropy. It was also, according to Ethan’s digging, the night Steven planned to officially appear with Genevieve on his arm in front of shareholders and potential partners.
“He’ll spin a narrative,” Ethan predicted, sitting across from me at his conference table, papers spread out between us. “Estranged wife. Long-dead marriage. True love rekindled. People eat that up.”
“People also like underdog stories,” I said. “How do you feel about playing the villain’s villain?”
Ethan’s smile was thin and sharp. “My favorite role.”
I wasn’t on the guest list.
I didn’t need to be. Legally, as his wife and as the woman whose money had funded the initial shares in Apex, I had more right to be there than half the tuxedos who’d sent in RSVPs engraved on card stock.