Shattered Mask

CHAPTER 4

A NEW LEGACY

“She is no longer my wife,” Jack cut him short, the words hitting the air like a gavel.

The image of Leslie leaning against Robert’s chest in that marble mansion flashed behind his eyes, fuelling a cold, focused fire.

Harnes didn’t flinch. He simply adjusted his glasses, his gaze fixed on the legal reality.

“Biologically, perhaps. But in the eyes of the law, she is the spouse of a man about to inherit the largest private fortune in the entire continent.

If you sign the inheritance papers while that bond is intact, she doesn’t just get a settlement…she gets half of the Rothwell legacy.

$115 billion as a parting gift for her betrayal.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. The thought of Leslie and Robert lounging on a yacht paid for by his grandfather’s blood and sweat was enough to make him nauseous.

“There is a sequence to this, Jack,” Harnes continued, his voice dropping to a low, strategic hum.

“We have a window of ten minutes. If you sign the divorce papers first, we time-stamp them and file them through an encrypted portal to the courthouse. In that moment, your legal status becomes ‘Single’.

Then, and only then, do we execute the Rothwell Estate Transfer.

She will be entitled to half of what you owned as a repairman… which is to say, half of a toolbox and a beat-up truck in the repair shop.”

Jack looked at the two folders on the desk. One represented his past …a marriage that had turned into a prison. The other represented a future he had spent a decade running from.

“And the catch?” Jack asked, his voice gravelly.

“The marriage clause. My grandfather’s final joke.”

“One year,” Harnes said, his face a mask of professional neutrality.

“The estate is yours the moment you sign, but it remains in a probationary trust. To finalise the transfer, you must be legally married within twelve months, and that marriage must endure for at least another year.

If the clock runs out and there is no Mrs Rothwell, the $230 billion is liquidated and distributed to the foundations.”

Jack let out a sharp, jagged laugh that sounded more like a bark. “He is in a casket, and he is still playing puppet master.

He knew I would be alone. He knew I would have every reason to never trust a woman again, so he made trust the price of my survival.”

He didn't wait for Harnes to offer a pen. He reached across the desk and snatched the heavy, gold-nibbed fountain pen that had belonged to his grandfather.

“Give me the divorce papers first.”

Harnes slid the document over. Jack didn't read it; he had lived the reality of those pages for four years. He scrawled his name in a violent, decisive motion.

“Time-stamp it,” Jack commanded.

Harnes pulled a heavy mechanical stamp from his drawer, adjusted the internal clock to the exact second, and brought it down with a heavy thud. The ink was barely dry before he was already uploading the digital scan.

“It is done,” Harnes whispered. “As of 10:14 AM, you are a free man. Now… become a King.”

Jack set the pen to the second document: the Transfer of Assets. He felt the weight of sixty-eight floors of steel above him and the weight of thousands of employees’ livelihoods beneath him. He signed.

The silence that followed was heavy. It wasn't the silence of an empty room, but the silence of a shift in the world’s axis.

“Congratulations, Mr Rothwell,” Harnes said, standing up and bowing slightly.

It was not the polite bow of a lawyer to a client anymore; it was the deferential acknowledgement of a general to his new commander.

“The world hasn't realised it yet, but the balance of power in this city just moved six inches to the left,” Harnes said

Jack leaned back in the leather chair, feeling the plush material against his bruised ribs.

“You almost sound like him,” Jack remarked, watching Harnes gather the folders. “The way you talk about power. I guess decades of being his shadow turned you into a mirror.”

“Your grandfather was many things, Jack, but he was never wrong about the nature of people,” Harnes replied as he signalled for his assistant. “Speaking of people… your phone.”

As if on cue, the burner phone in Jack’s pocket began to vibrate, dancing against his thigh. He pulled it out.

SUNSHINE LESLIE flashed on the cracked screen.

A wave of irony washed over him.

She was likely calling to check if he had moved his things out, or perhaps to hurl one last insult about his 'lack of ambition.'

He stared at the name—the nickname he had given her back when he believed they were a team against the world.

He pressed the ‘End Call’ button and tossed the phone onto the desk as if it were a piece of trash.

“She is persistent,” Harnes noted.

“She is irrelevant,” Jack corrected.

“Alright then, let us head out. I have something to show you.”

As they walked out of the office, the atmosphere in the hallway had transformed.

The staff, who had looked at Jack with mild curiosity or pity on his way in, were now lined up like a royal guard.

The whispers had stopped.

Jack didn't acknowledge them. He felt like a ghost walking through a museum of his own life.

The underground garage was a cathedral of automotive excellence. Row after row of Italian supercars, German engineering, and British luxury sat under soft LED spotlights.

“Your grandfather’s private collection,” Harnes said, gesturing to the fleet. ”

Jack walked past a crimson Ferrari and a black Lamborghini. He stopped in a corner where a single car sat under a heavy, dust-covered tarpaulin.

He grabbed the edge of the fabric and hauled it back, revealing a 1967 midnight-blue Lincoln Continental with suicide doors.

“I remember this,” Jack whispered, running a hand over the cool metal.

“He used to pick me up from school in this before the world got too dangerous for him to drive himself.”

“The car has been idle for five years,” Harnes cautioned.

“The internal systems are pristine, but it may need a fluid flush and a detail.”

“Have the mechanics ready it by tomorrow. Today, I will take the Phantom.”

Harnes nodded in the affirmative

“I am not going back to my apartment, Martin. Not yet. I need a place where I can think. Somewhere they won’t look for me.”

“The Rothwell Estate in Westchester is prepared, sir. James, the head of the household staff, has been notified.

He served your father, and he will serve you with absolute discretion.”

Ethan nodded and made his way to the car, opened by the guards.

“It is Jack Time. Everyone should watch out for me. The Despised repairman is ready for action,” Jack murmured to himself as he entered the car.