Chapter 3: The Frozen Dynasty**
By Monday morning, Victoria Ashford had waged a scorched-earth campaign across Manhattan. Every venture capital board Julian had sat on received an official notice of his immediate resignation. Commercial banks were warned that any unsecured credit extended to Julian Ashford would result in the Ashford Corporation pulling their multibillion-dollar institutional deposits.
Sitting behind her vast polished obsidian desk on the fiftieth floor of the Ashford Tower, Victoria sipped her Earl Grey. Her chief legal counsel, Richard Sterling, stood across from her, shifting uncomfortably with a leather dossier in hand.
“Madam Ashford,” Sterling began cautiously, “Julian hasn't reached out to any of the back-channel mediators. In fact, our investigators report he signed a lease on a two-bedroom walk-up apartment in Queens yesterday.”
Victoria’s cup clicked sharply against its porcelain saucer. “He is throwing a tantrum. He thinks living like a martyr will make me grovel for my grandson. Give him three weeks of budgeting groceries and paying utility bills. A boy raised on private jets cannot survive on tap water and commuter trains.”
“And what about the press?” Sterling asked. “Page Six is already asking why Julian and Clara vanished before the midnight charity gala toast.”
“Tell them Julian took his wife on a private retreat to recover from postpartum exhaustion,” Victoria ordered coldly, her eyes narrowing. “And hire the top private investigator in the city. I want daily photographs of that baby. The moment that uneducated girl makes one mistake—one sign of neglect—we file for emergency emergency custody.”
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She stared out over the concrete skyline, convinced that money could starve love into submission.
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