He looked up at me, for once, without the slightest trace of superiority. After all these years, that was a novelty. His eyes were a jumble of terror, anger, and the sort of desperate calculation that usually comes out before exam results. Previously, in situations like this, he always knew how to corner me. But todayhe didnt.
What do you want? he repeated, this time in a much softer tone. Money? Just say a figure. I can sort it. We can work something out.
I permitted myself a brief pause. Not the sort you see on stage, but a proper business pausethe kind before you sign off a year-end report.
You still dont get it, Simon, I said calmly. I dont need your money.
He blinked. That set him reeling far more than any shouting.
So what then? Revenge? Want to ruin me? His voice soared again.
No. I want back whats mine. And I want it finished.
I got up, strolled over to the cabinet, and brought out a slim folder. Grey, no label, looking every bit the sort of thing youd shove under old contracts and tax records. Simon never bothered opening it. To him, it was always Annas accounting nonsense.
I put it on the table and opened it.
Here, I pointed to the first page, are the loan agreements. Personal ones. You borrowed company money. Lots of it, in your name. Just for now, as you liked to say.
I flipped over the next sheet.
These are the reconciliation reports. Every liability acknowledged.
And another.
This is the additional agreement. If you drain assets for yourself, the debt is instantly due.
He went pale. Properly palethe freckles on his nose, which had once seemed cute, now looked painfully obvious.
You you forged those?
No, I shook my head. You signed them. At various points. Sometimes tipsy. Sometimes rushing to a meeting that always started after nine.
He jumped to his feet.
This is blackmail!
Its called accounting, Simon, I stared straight at him. You never did grasp the difference.
He paced the kitchen, running a hand through his hair like a frustrated Shakespearean actor.
Mary she knew nothing This is all you! You planned it!
Mary knew enough, I replied. She knew you were almost free and that almost everything was transferred. Enough for her, by her standards.
I took my seat again, this time opposite him.
Youve got a choice, I continued. First option: we go to court. The donations nullified. Then come the audits: HMRC, the Crown Prosecutors, your reputation. Your brand-new life. All gets thrown in the bin.
And the second? he whispered.
The second is easier. We sign an agreement. You walk away from the business. Hand over your shares to me. No public drama.
He laughed. Briefly. Hysterically.
And you think Ill be left with nothing?
No, I said honestly. Ill leave you exactly what you offered mea car. And time to pack your bags.
He stared at me for ages. In that gaze was everything: hatred, a stab at pity, and the memory of how we started out in a tiny office with an ancient computer.
I loved you he whispered.
I kept his gaze.
I loved a person. Not a scam. Not a traitor. That person is long gone.
He slumped back in the chair. Not theatricallygenuinely.
Let me think
Youve got twenty-four hours, I said. Tomorrow at ten, the solicitor arrives.
He nodded. Slowly. Like someone whose batteries have run out.
The next day, he appeared bang on the dot. Hollow cheeks, bloodshot eyes. Mary didnt call. Or maybe she didhe didnt answer.
He signed the paperwork in silence, hand trembling.
When it was all done, the solicitor left and we found ourselves alone.
You won, he muttered.
No, I replied. I just walked out of a game Id been playing solo for years.
He grabbed his keys and paused by the hallway.
I thought you were weak
I smiled.
That was your biggest mistake.
The door clicked shut behind him. No drama, no theatrical slam.
Six months later, the company was thriving. I changed the team, scrubbed out the dodgy dealings, sorted everything. The business turned cleanerand stronger.
Simon tried to start over. Gossip said he failed miserably. Mary faded fastthe minute the money vanished, her enthusiasm did too.
Sometimes, I saw his name in the news. Less often. Quieter each time.
The Backup folder got deleted. Didnt need it anymore.
Sometimes, the best revenge isnt a slap.
Its a meticulous, cold calculation made long before the curtain falls.
