“Actually, Mr. Danton,” Henderson said, his voice echoing in the silent room. “You haven’t paid full rent in five years. You pay a subsidized rate of $4,000 a month. The market rate is $45,000.”
“So?” Mark argued. “That was the deal! The landlord liked my food!”
“The landlord,” Henderson said, moving the flashlight beam to illuminate Elena’s face, “is Hale Holdings. The sole beneficiary of which is Elena Hale.”
Mark froze. He looked at his wife. The wife he called country trash. The wife he cheated on.
“You?” he whispered. “You own the building?”
“I own the building,” Elena said, her voice cutting through the dark. “I own the land it sits on. And I own the holding company that has been transferring $40,000 a month into your business account to keep you from going bankrupt.”
The mistress gasped. She stood up, knocking over her champagne glass. It shattered on the floor.
“You’re… you’re broke?” the mistress asked, looking at Mark with horror.
“I…” Mark looked around wildly. “No! I’m a Michelin star chef! I am a brand!”
“You are a tenant,” Elena corrected. “And you are currently in default. According to the ledger I reviewed today, you are $400,000 in debt to my trust for unauthorized renovations and personal expenses charged to the business.”
She stepped closer to him.
“You called me country trash, Mark. But this ‘trash’ has been paying for your lobster. Paying for your staff. Paying for the electricity you just used to humiliate me.”
Mark looked at the customers who were now filming the scene with their phones. He looked at his staff, who were watching from the kitchen doorway, not moving to help him.
He looked at Elena. “Elena, baby, wait. Let’s talk about this. We’re married. What’s yours is mine, right?”
“Not anymore,” Elena said. “I spoke to my lawyer during the blackout. He’s filing for divorce tomorrow morning. And since you signed a prenuptial agreement to protect ‘your future empire’…” She smiled coldly. “You leave with what you came with.”
“Which is nothing,” Henderson added helpfully.
