Chapter 7 - The Wife They Underestimated
At nine o’clock Monday morning, Abigail walked into Wexler Maritime wearing black.
Not mourning black.
War black.
Simon had told her to remain at the estate.
She had ignored him again.
The boardroom occupied the forty-second floor overlooking Philadelphia.
Edward sat at the head of the table when Simon entered.
Charles Armitage sat beside him.
Abigail recognized him from her mother’s photographs.
Edward smiled.
“Nephew.”
Simon took the chair opposite him.
“You’re sitting in my seat.”
“For the moment.”
Edward’s attorneys distributed documents.
The argument was simple.
Simon’s rushed marriage to the daughter of an indebted gambler demonstrated compromised judgment.
Edward intended to invalidate Simon’s control under a morality clause buried inside the family trust.
Then he attacked Abigail.
Her supposed lovers.
Her father’s debts.
Her financial circumstances.
Every lie Walter had been paid to create.
Abigail listened silently.
Simon’s hands tightened beneath the table.
Edward smiled at her.
“No offense intended, my dear.”
Abigail leaned forward.
“None taken.”
Simon glanced at her.
She opened her bag.
“But you made one mistake.”
Edward’s smile weakened.
“You assumed nobody kept receipts.”
She placed copies of Walter’s payments on the table.
Then Margaret’s ledgers.
Then photographs.
Then records connecting Edward to the shell companies.
Charles Armitage stood.
“This meeting is over.”
“No,” Abigail said. “I think it’s finally becoming interesting.”
Edward looked at Simon.
“You brought your bride to negotiate corporate governance?”
Simon leaned back.
“No.”
A faint smile appeared.
“She brought me.”
Abigail played part of Margaret’s recording.
Robert Wexler’s suspected murder filled the room.
The directors went silent.
Edward’s face drained of color.
Then the doors opened.
Federal investigators entered.
Edward stared at Simon.
“You arrogant little bastard.”
Simon remained seated.
“Probably.”
Charles ran.
He made it three steps before Marcus blocked the doorway.
Within minutes, both men were escorted out.
But Edward stopped beside Abigail.
“You think this ends with me?”
She looked at him.
“It ends with the truth.”
Edward smiled.
“No. Your mother discovered only half of it.”
Simon stood.
Edward continued.
“Ask your husband who really authorized the Preston loan.”
Abigail turned.
Simon’s expression changed.
Edward laughed as agents pulled him away.
The boardroom emptied slowly.
Abigail remained.
“Simon?”
He stared through the windows.
“What did he mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
Simon turned.
She knew immediately.
“Tell me.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“The loan originated through one of my private funds.”
Abigail stepped backward.
“You lent my father the money?”
“Not personally.”
“But your company did.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“Not initially.”
“When did you find out?”
Simon did not answer quickly enough.
Her face changed.
“When?”
“Six weeks before the wedding.”
Abigail stared at him.
“You knew my father owed you money before anyone proposed the marriage.”
“Yes.”
“And you approved the marriage afterward.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Simon struggled for words.
Because he had seen her photograph.
Because he had read about the daughter working double shifts while finishing university.
Because something about her had interested him long before he admitted it.
Because he had needed a wife and believed choosing a woman already tied to his organization would simplify things.
Every explanation sounded ugly now.
Abigail removed her wedding ring.
Simon’s chest tightened.
“Abigail.”
“You said you didn’t buy me.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you knew the debt gave you leverage.”
“I never intended—”
“That doesn’t matter.”
She placed the ring on the table.
Simon stared at it.
“I need to leave.”
“Where?”
“That’s no longer your decision.”
She walked away.
Simon did not stop her.
Because she was right.
Three hours later, Abigail returned to her father’s house.
Rose hugged her.
Tommy asked where Simon was.
Abigail said she didn’t know.
That night, she lay awake staring at the ceiling.
At 1:14 a.m., someone knocked.
Her heart jumped.
She opened the door.
Simon stood outside.
Alone.
No guards.
No expensive car visible.
Just Simon.
He held no flowers.
No gifts.
No excuses.
“What are you doing here?”
He looked exhausted.
“Apologizing.”
Abigail folded her arms.
“You could have called.”
“I didn’t think you’d answer.”
“You were correct.”
A shadow of humor crossed his face.
Then vanished.
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I should never have allowed your father’s debt to influence my decision.”
“Yes.”
“I was wrong.”
Abigail blinked.
She had not expected those words from Simon Wexler.
He continued.
“I’m not asking you to come back.”
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
“I came to give you this.”
He handed her a folder.
Inside were annulment documents.
Already signed by Simon.
Alongside them was legal confirmation that Walter’s debt remained permanently erased.
Tommy and Rose’s trusts remained untouched.
Abigail looked up.
“You’re letting me go.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“I’m giving you the choice I should have given you from the beginning.”
Then Simon walked away.
May you like
Abigail remained beneath the porch light, holding the papers that could make her free.
And for the first time since meeting him, she realized freedom might not mean leaving.
