Part 2 Harrison offered Natalie his arm. “It is, my dear. The Rolls is out front.”
**Part 2**
Harrison offered Natalie his arm. “It is, my dear. The Rolls is out front.”
Simon Crest scrambled for his papers. “Your Honor, we object. This is an ambush. Material evidence withheld.”
Harrison paused at the door. “It was in the prenup.”
“There was no prenup,” Greg screamed. “We never signed one.”
“You didn’t,” Harrison said. “The corporation you signed your employment contract with did. Clause 14, Section B. In the event of moral turpitude or infidelity, all intellectual property reverts to the primary shareholder.” He pointed at Natalie. “Her.”
Judge Holley stammered. “This hearing isn’t over—”
“The divorce is over, Judge. She signed the papers. She wants nothing from him. No alimony. No house. No car.” Harrison looked at Greg one last time. “Because as of right now, Mr. Pembrook, you are unemployed. And you are being sued for corporate espionage by Blackwood Holdings. I’d save that money for a criminal defense attorney.”
They walked out.
The Rolls-Royce Phantom swallowed the city into a distant hum behind bulletproof glass. Natalie closed her eyes. The courtroom adrenaline drained into hollow exhaustion.
“You did well, Nat,” Harrison said, handing her chilled water. “Stoic. Dignified. Your mother would have been proud.”
Her hands trembled. “He looked so small when you told him about the IP. For five years he walked around like a giant. Without the money he’s just a boy who cheated on his wife.”
Harrison’s face hardened. “Men like Greg mistake luck for genius and cruelty for strength. Be careful. A man stripped of his ego becomes dangerous.”
“He signed the papers. It’s done.”
“The marriage is done. The war for the assets is starting. Crest is a weasel, but a smart one. He’ll argue comingled assets. He’ll attack the clause.”
“The Cayman structure holds.”
“It does. But Greg has allies. Investors who cannot afford Pembrook Dynamics collapsing. Specifically the Russian consortium that bought fifteen percent last month.”
Natalie’s blood went cold. “He let the Sokolov group in. I told him not to touch their money.”
“Greed makes people deaf. Now that the algorithm they paid for is legally yours, they will not be looking for Greg. They will be looking for the person holding the keys.”
Natalie stared at her reflection in the dark window. She was no longer only a divorcee. She was a target.
Back at the courthouse, Greg kicked a trash can down the hall. “Fix this, Simon. You told me she was a nobody. Orphan from Ohio. Dead parents.”
Crest typed furiously. “That’s what the background check said. Natalie Ford, Dayton. No mention of Harrison Blackwood.”
“He owns half of Midtown. If he says he owns my algorithm, the stock is zero by open. I have margin calls. I have the Sokolov debt.”
Crest pushed him off. “Panic is expensive. Find the link. Why is Blackwood involved?”
“She called him uncle. She never mentioned family. She was quiet. Always sketching.”
A memory surfaced: late nights in Tribeca, Natalie asleep on the sofa, a notebook open on her chest. He had never looked. He had assumed grocery lists. Flowers.
“The notebooks,” Greg whispered. “Dozens of them. She left them when I kicked her out. She only took one suitcase.”
Crest’s eyes lit. “If those contain original handwritten code, we argue it was created in the marital home. Marital property.”
“Better,” Greg said, already dialing. “If I have the physical proof, I sell it to the Sokolovs tonight. Before Blackwood files an injunction. Get the car. Tribeca. Now.”
Thirty minutes later the Rolls stopped at Blackwood Tower on Fifth Avenue. Harrison escorted Natalie into the private elevator.
“You’ll stay in the penthouse suite until security sweeps the townhouse.”
“I just want to sleep for a week.”
The doors opened. A woman in a sharp blazer was waiting, tablet in both hands.
“Mr. Blackwood. We have a problem.”
“Not now, Jessica.”
“It’s the server logs. Someone is inside the Pembrook mainframe. They’re downloading the source code.”
Harrison scoffed. “We revoked the license. Without the key it’s gibberish.”
Jessica’s face was pale. “They have the key. The biometric override.”
Natalie froze.
“Only two people have that,” she whispered. “Me and Greg.”
