My husband gave me twenty-four hours to disappear

The rain that had drenched Claire the previous night seemed to have followed Ethan down to the city streets. Flashes of thunder cracked over Manhattan as Ethan and Sabrina tumbled out onto the curb outside the Plaza.

The valet refused to hand over Ethan’s Maybach.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mercer,” the parking manager said, stepping back with a cold look. “A court order was served ten minutes ago by Vance Legal Group. The vehicle is listed as an encumbered asset subject to asset seizure. We cannot release the keys.”

“Are you insane? That car is registered in my name!” Ethan roared, lunging forward, but two private security guards from the hotel stepped in front of the manager.

“Step back, sir. Or we will call the NYPD.”

Sabrina backed away, her designer heels splashing into a dirty puddle of street water. Her diamond earrings—bought with Mercer Capital corporate funds—glinted under the neon streetlights. “You told me you were invincible, Ethan. You told me she was just a pathetic mouse who stayed home cooking while you conquered the world!”

“Shut up, Sabrina!” Ethan snapped, his tie hanging loose around his collar. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and drizzle. “I built Mercer Capital! I’m the brain behind Hudson Horizon! Without my signature, they can’t build a single floor of that tower!”

“Didn't you hear the announcement?” Sabrina sneered, all affection and sweetness vanished from her features. “Aura Design Group revoked the architectural licenses! The designs were never yours! You stole them from her!”

“I didn't steal them—she was my wife!” Ethan yelled, his voice cracking.

Passersby stopped to film the spectacle with their smartphones. Within seconds, clips of Ethan Mercer screaming on the rain-soaked sidewalk in front of the Plaza were trending on TikTok and Twitter under the hashtag #BillionaireBroke.

Leaving Sabrina cursing in the rain, Ethan flagged a yellow cab with the last few hundred dollars in cash folded inside his wallet. He gave the driver the address of Mercer Capital’s headquarters in Midtown. He needed to get to his office. He had backup hard drives, offshore accounts, personal bearer bonds stored in his private executive safe. If he could reach the vault before the court injunctions took full effect, he could still charter a jet to the Cayman Islands.

Twenty minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of the glass skyscraper bearing the illuminated letters: **MERCER CAPITAL**.

Ethan threw cash at the driver and sprinted inside. But as he pushed through the revolving doors, his blood ran cold.

The lobby was crawling with men in dark suits bearing federal badges. Agents from the Department of Justice and the SEC were loading file boxes onto carts. Sitting calmly on the leather lounge chairs near the reception desk was a woman with a tablet: Julian Vance’s senior legal counsel, Eleanor Cross.

“Good evening, Mr. Mercer,” Eleanor said, looking up with a razor-thin smile. “You’re late. The building has been locked down. Your executive security clearance has been revoked by order of the federal bankruptcy court.”