Chapter 4 - The Process Server
While I was reorganizing the corporate landscape of NexoCloud from my office, Jonathan Miller was standing in his modest, three-bedroom suburban home, staring into the bathroom mirror.
He wore a fresh charcoal suit, carefully combing his hair back. His right hand was slightly red from where it had struck my face the night before, but his expression was smug, filled with the supreme confidence of a man who believed he was hours away from becoming a multi-millionaire.
Florence walked into the bathroom, carrying a mug of hot coffee.
"Did that girl call you yet?" she asked, setting the mug on the counter.
Jonathan sneered, adjusting his silver silk tie. "No. She’s probably sitting in some cheap motel in Baltimore crying her eyes out. Let her stew for a few days, Mom. By Friday, she'll be begging me to let her come back and wash every piece of clothing in this house."
"Good," Florence snorted. "Women like that need to be taught a lesson early. She thought because she had a little office job she was better than us. My mother taught me how to serve my husband, and you're going to teach her how to serve you."
Jonathan checked his gold watch—a watch he had bought on credit to look wealthy during investor meetings. "I have to get to the office. The Vanguard deal closes at two. 120 million dollars, Mom. Once that check hits the company account, I'm buying a mansion in Buckhead, and you're getting a brand-new Mercedes."
"That’s my good boy," Florence smiled, kissing his cheek.
Jonathan grabbed his briefcase, stepped out onto his front porch, and walked down the driveway toward his leased BMW.
As he reached for the door handle, a young man in a wrinkled polo shirt and jeans stepped out of a parked sedan on the street and walked up to him.
"Jonathan Miller?" the young man asked, holding a thick white envelope.
Jonathan frowned, assuming it was a courier with pre-meeting documents from his own legal team. "Yes. What is it?"
"You've been served," the young man said mechanically, shoving the thick envelope directly into Jonathan’s chest, pulling out his phone to take a quick verification photo of Jonathan holding the papers, and turning on his heel to walk back to his car.
Jonathan stood on his driveway, staring at the envelope in confusion. The top left corner bore the official seal of the Fulton County Family Court, stamped in red ink: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
Jonathan laughed aloud, tossing the envelope onto the passenger seat of his car. "Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, turning the ignition. "She actually went to some legal-aid clinic and filed divorce papers twelve hours later. What a pathetic, desperate attempt to get my attention."
He pulled out his phone and dialed my old number while driving toward the interstate.
It rang three times before going straight to a generic voicemail automated message.
"Charlotte," Jonathan said into the phone, his voice dripping with arrogance and mockery. "I just got your little paper delivery at my house. Are you serious? You think filing a fake divorce petition is going to intimidate me? You don't have a penny for a real lawyer, Charlotte. You rent a room in a dump. When I finish my meeting at Vanguard today, I'm going to be worth fifty million dollars on paper. You just threw away the only chance you ever had at living a real life. Don't call me crying when you realize how badly you messed up."
He slammed his phone down onto the console, stepping on the gas.
At ten-fifteen, Jonathan pulled into the glass parking structure of NexoCloud's headquarters. He strode through the front doors like a king returning to his court, nodding to the receptionist.
"Where’s David?" Jonathan asked, walking into his corner office.
His secretary, a young woman named Brenda, looked up from her desk with an anxious, pale expression. "Mr. Miller... David hasn't come in today."
Jonathan frowned. "What do you mean he hasn't come in? We have the Vanguard closing today! He’s supposed to be preparing the technical appendices!"
"He... he came in at six this morning, packed all his personal boxes, and left," Brenda stammered, handing Jonathan a piece of paper. "He left this on your desk."
Jonathan snatched the paper from her hand. It was a formal resignation letter, citing Section 12-B of their founder agreement, stating that David was exercising his right to spin off the primary compression patents due to the company's financial instability.
Jonathan’s face went white. He ripped the paper into tiny pieces, slamming his fist onto his desk. "That idiot! That spineless nerd! He can't do that! That clause isn't enforceable!"
Before he could process his rage, his desk phone rang. It was his executive assistant.
"Mr. Miller! Vanguard Capital just called. They moved the closing meeting up to eleven o'clock! They said the Chief Executive Officer wants to review the final terms personally!"
Jonathan froze. He looked at his watch. It was ten-thirty.
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He didn't have time to chase down David Chen. He didn't have time to fix the patent issue. He had to get to Vanguard Tower, sign the 120 million dollar contract, get the money deposited, and deal with David later using Vanguard’s army of lawyers.
"Get the car," Jonathan shouted to Brenda, brushing dust off his lapel. "Forget David. Once Vanguard signs the check, David has no leverage anyway. We’re going to Vanguard Tower!"
