Chapter 5 - The Boardroom and the Brush
By 8:00 AM the next morning, the front page of the New York Post featured a split photograph: Vincent walking into the gala with Khloe on his arm, and Naomi standing beside The Commodity. The headline was brutal: THE ART OF THE STEAL: ELLERY’S MISTRESS BECOMES A MASTERPIECE.
Vincent sat at the head of the massive glass conference table at Ellery Enterprises, his executive board looking at him with expressions ranging from severe disappointment to outright hostility.
"Our stock dropped four percent at the opening bell, Vincent," the chief financial officer said, slamming a copy of the morning paper onto the table. "We are in the middle of a three-billion-dollar public-private partnership bid for the Hudson Yards expansion. The city council is dominated by progressive politicians who lean heavily on family-first rhetoric. This... this public circus is making us look like a toxic brand."
"My private life has nothing to do with the structural integrity of our developments," Vincent said, his voice flat, his eyes cold.
"It does when your private life is being hung in the Guggenheim as a metaphor for corporate greed and moral decay," an older board member countered. "Your wife didn't just paint a picture of an affair, Vincent. She painted a twenty-canvas chronicle of how this company uses people up and leaves them in the dark. The critics are calling it a profound critique of late-stage capitalism. She’s turned you into the poster boy for everything the public hates."
The boardroom doors opened, and Vincent's assistant stepped in, her face pale. "Mr. Ellery... Mrs. Ellery’s legal team is here."
Vincent stood up immediately, leaving the board members murmuring behind him as he walked into his private office.
Waiting for him wasn't Naomi, but Eleanor Vance—Manhattan’s most formidable divorce attorney, a woman who specialized in dismantling billionaires with a smile. She set a simple, slender manila folder onto his mahogany desk.
"Where is Naomi?" Vincent demanded, refusing to sit down.
"Naomi is currently at JFK, boarding a flight to Paris for her European opening," Eleanor said smoothly, taking a seat and crossing her legs. "She didn't feel it was necessary to attend this meeting. Her work speaks for itself, wouldn't you agree?"
Vincent looked at the folder. "What is this? The divorce petition? Tell her I’ll contest it. I’ll tie her up in court for the next ten years. She won't see a single cent of my real estate revenue."
Eleanor let out a soft, pitying laugh. "Mr. Ellery, you clearly haven't read the terms. This isn't a divorce petition. This is a quitclaim deed and an unconditional release form. Naomi is signing over her entire right to the Central Park penthouse, the Connecticut townhouse, and every single investment account bearing your name. She wants absolutely nothing from you."
Vincent blinked, the wind completely knocked out of his sails. "Nothing? That’s impossible. No one walks away from a billion-dollar estate with nothing."
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"She isn't walking away with nothing," Eleanor corrected, her sharp blue eyes locking onto his. "She’s walking away with her name, her talent, and her freedom. But there is one condition. She requires you to sign a non-interference clause. You will not attempt to buy her art. You will not contact her galleries. And you will allow her to use the name N. Ellery for the rest of her professional life."
Vincent stared at the document, a strange, suffocating sensation rising in his throat. She wasn't trying to ruin him financially. She was doing something far worse: she was rendering him completely irrelevant to her future.
