Before I could react, she ripped open her shirt and hurled herself into my arms, a frantic, practiced performance. “Jerome, stop!” she screamed and then, piercing, “We’re divorced! No matter how much you try, I won’t let you touch me. Help… I’m being assaulted…”
I shoved her off, watching the act with cold distance as she collapsed to the floor and scrambled backward. “Mr. Madron, stop!” she cried, flailing. “Somebody, help me!”
Henry already had his phone up, recording. When Shannon regained her feet, he waved the screen at me. “I’ll edit this later,” he said with giggles. “If this video goes online… imagine the fallout.”
Shannon wiped at her tears, reapplied a perfect stroke of makeup and spoke casually. “Jerome, regret is the heaviest loss. You owe me for what you did. Do you think the netizens will sympathize with you? If that old footage goes public, your company won’t survive. Seven hundred million a month isn’t much. Half your profits, just what an ex-wife deserves.”
She leveled me with a stare as cold as ice. “Last chance. One minute.”
One minute passed and Henry’s face was grim. “You idiot! How dare you molest my sister? Beat him to death!”