The Genius Heiress Divorces Her Billionaire

Arline pushed open the heavy mahogany door of the Monroe estate's private study.

Cora Finch sat behind the massive oak desk. Two thick, encrypted laptops were open in front of her. Cables snaked across the wood.

Arline walked to the leather chair behind the desk and sat down.

"Give me the status on Caldwell's interference with my trust fund," Arline ordered.

Cora turned one of the laptops toward Arline. The screen showed a complex web of financial transfers. Cora pointed to a red highlighted section.

"Edgardo's older brother, Duane Caldwell, is the CFO of their company," Cora said. "Over the last six months, Duane used a loophole in your marriage contract. He froze the liquid assets of three of your major commercial properties under the excuse of 'joint investment restructuring'."

Arline stared at the numbers. A cold laugh escaped her lips.

"He is trying to lock up my cash flow so I cannot afford to fight them," Arline said. "Call the M&A lawyers on Wall Street. Tell them to prepare a Poison Pill strategy. We are going to forcefully liquidate those assets and bleed Duane's department dry."

Cora typed furiously on her keyboard. Then, she stopped. She looked up at Arline with a grim expression.

"If we file the divorce papers and attack their finances," Cora said slowly, "Edgardo will immediately cut off the supply of Gary's experimental drug."

The air in the study turned freezing cold.

Arline rubbed her temples. Her fingers pressed hard into her skin. This was the dead knot she could not untie.

"I cannot stay married to him, Cora," Arline said. Her voice dropped to a disgusted whisper. "I went to the West Wing last night. I saw Edgardo and Kenia in bed together. I heard him call me a pathetic dog. The thought of breathing the same air as that family makes me physically sick."

Cora's eyes went wide. She slammed her hand flat against the desk.

"Those disgusting parasites!" Cora hissed. "They are using your money and sleeping together under your roof!"

"I need a new lab," Arline said, ignoring the outburst. Her brain was working in overdrive. "We have to find a facility that can synthesize the drug before I hand Edgardo the divorce papers."

Outside the study, the hallway was quiet.

Gary Monroe sat in his motorized wheelchair. The wheels were silent on the thick Persian carpet. He held a glass of warm milk in his hand. He wanted to bring it to his daughter.

The heavy mahogany door was not fully closed. A one-inch gap let the voices from inside drift out.

Gary stopped the wheelchair. He heard Cora yell about parasites. He held his breath.

Then, he heard Arline's voice. He heard her say she saw Edgardo and Kenia in bed. He heard her say Edgardo called her a dog.

Gary's hand began to shake violently.

The warm milk sloshed over the rim of the glass. It spilled onto his cashmere blanket.

His daughter. His proud, brilliant daughter was being humiliated and tortured by the family that was supposed to protect her. And she was enduring it just to get his medicine.

A massive wave of rage and crushing guilt slammed into Gary's chest.

His breathing turned into loud, wet gasps. A sharp, tearing pain exploded behind his sternum. It felt like a hot knife twisting in his heart.

Black spots danced in his vision. He tried to push the joystick on the wheelchair to enter the room, but his fingers lost all strength.

The glass of milk slipped from his hand. It hit the thick carpet with a muffled thud.

Gary's body slumped forward. He slid out of the wheelchair and crashed heavily onto the floor.

Inside the study, Arline heard the heavy thud against the door.

Her stomach dropped. Ice water flooded her veins.

She shoved her chair back. It crashed into the bookshelf. She sprinted to the door and ripped it open.

Gary lay on the floor. His face was turning a dark, terrifying shade of purple. His eyes were rolled back.

Arline let out a raw, guttural scream.

Her medical training hijacked her panic. She dropped to her knees beside him. She pressed two fingers hard against his carotid artery.

The pulse was barely there. It was fluttering like a dying bird.

"Call 911! Activate the estate medical team!" Arline screamed at Cora.

Arline ripped Gary's shirt open. She locked her hands together. She locked her elbows. She positioned the heel of her hand over the center of his chest.

She pushed down hard. One, two, three, four.

Tears poured out of her eyes and dripped onto Gary's chest, but her compressions were mechanically perfect.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. Alfred and the estate's private medical team ran toward them pushing a crash cart.

A doctor grabbed Arline by the shoulders and pulled her away.

Arline fell back against the wall. She watched the doctor press the defibrillator paddles to Gary's chest. Gary's body jerked violently off the floor.

Arline dug her fingernails into her own arms. She felt her entire world collapsing.

Three agonizing minutes passed. The monitor on the crash cart beeped. A weak, steady green line appeared on the screen.

"We have a pulse," the doctor yelled, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Load him up. He needs the ICU right now."

Arline slid down the wall. She sat on the floor, staring at the spilled milk soaking into the carpet. Her body felt completely hollow.