Thirty Minutes of Laughter After I Lost All Assets

Married for three years, and she slapped me across the face in the middle of a board meeting. All for her one that got away.

She looked down at me. Oscar, give the company to him. You don't deserve it.

I just smiled. No tears, no screaming, no flipping tables.

I quietly signed the equity transfer agreement and slid the corporate seal across the mahogany table.

Everyone in that room thought I was a coward yielding to the pressure.

But they didn't know the truth.

Sitting on that company's books was a black hole of eighty million dollars.

My hand was shaking when I signed those papers.

Not out of anger.

I was terrified she might change her mind.

When Beatrice walked into the conference room, every executive stood up.

It wasn't out of respect.

It was because of the man walking right behind her.

Oliver.

Her college sweetheart. Her "perfect regret." Word on the street was that he was a Wall Street hotshot who had just moved back from London, a financial prodigy with a ruthless edge.

I was sitting at the head of the table. The coffee in my mug was still steaming.

The moment I saw them walk in shoulder to shoulder, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

But Beatrice's first words made it painfully clear. We weren't here to discuss the quarterly earnings report.

"Oscar Pendleton."

She used my full name.

The last time she called me by my full name was three years ago at the courthouse when we signed our marriage certificate.

I set my mug down. "What's going on?"

She marched right up to me. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor.

Then, she raised her hand.

Smack.

She slapped me hard across the left cheek.

The entire boardroom flatlined.

The pen in Richard's hand slipped. It clattered to the floor and rolled under the table. The old financial director froze for three seconds, not even daring to reach for it.

My head snapped to the side. A dull ringing echoed in my left ear.

It didn't hurt.

Honestly, it didn't hurt at all.

But I still put on a mask of absolute heartbreak.

After all, I had been waiting three long months for this exact slap.

Beatrice's eyes were red. I couldn't tell if it was genuine emotion or just a performance. Her acting skills had definitely improved over the last three years.

"Oscar, give the company to him."

She pointed a manicured finger at Oliver standing behind her.

"You don't deserve it."

Oliver stood tall. His expression was composed, but his eyes carried a distinct glint that screamed he was simply better than me.

His tailored suit fit flawlessly. His hair was styled to perfection. The guy radiated the insufferable energy of a motivational speaker on a TED Talk stage.

I almost burst out laughing right there.

There were eleven executives in that room. Not a single one made a sound.

Some stared at their phones. Some found the ceiling tiles fascinating. Others suddenly developed a profound academic interest in the plastic water bottles on the table.

My secretary, Sarah, stood in the corner. She was biting her lip so hard it was about to bleed.

She was the only person in the room who knew the actual financial data.

Besides me, of course.

I took a deep breath and stood up.

"Alright."

Beatrice blinked.

She had clearly prepped herself for a massive shouting match. Behind her, Oliver also stiffened. He probably didn't expect his hero moment to go this smoothly.

I walked to the other end of the table and picked up the equity transfer agreement the legal team had drafted in advance.

I flipped to the last page.

Signed it.

Stamped it.

I slid the corporate seal right to Oliver's fingertips.

The whole process took less than two minutes.

Richard finally picked up his pen from the floor. He looked at me with an expression so complicated it could have been a modern art exhibit.

He was a veteran numbers guy.

He knew exactly what those digits meant.

But he didn't dare say a word.

Because Beatrice was Victor Sinclair's daughter. Victor might be retired, but the old man still cast a long shadow in this industry.

I pushed the signed documents toward Beatrice.

"Sign it."

She picked up the pen. Her hand was trembling.

Maybe it was excitement.

Maybe she was moved to tears.

She was finally merging the love of her life with her family's empire.

How poetic.

I gave her a silent standing ovation in my head.

After signing, Beatrice looked up at me. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else.

I didn't give her the chance.

"I've already packed my things. Keep the house. I'm taking my car. It's not worth much anyway, so consider it my parting gift to you."

I grabbed my keys off the table and walked toward the door.

"Oh, right."

I glanced back at Oliver.

He squared his shoulders and met my gaze head-on.

"Congratulations."

I left him with that single word and pushed through the glass doors.

The hallway was incredibly long.

My leather shoes clicked against the marble floor. Step after step.

The elevator doors slid open. I stepped inside and hit the button for the underground garage.

The second those metal doors closed.

I smiled.

It wasn't a bitter smile. It wasn't a cold smirk.

It was the genuine, soul-cleansing, weight-of-the-world-lifting grin of a man who just tossed a live grenade into someone else's lap.

I covered my face and crouched in the corner of the elevator. My shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.

I made it to the garage, got into my car, and slammed the door shut.

Then I laughed for a solid thirty minutes.

I laughed until I was starved for oxygen. I laughed until my ribs ached. I laughed until my tears soaked the leather steering wheel.

I'm not a psychopath.

You just don't know the truth.

Sitting on that company's balance sheet was a black hole of exactly eighty million dollars.

Eighty million.

Not eighty thousand.

I saw those audit reports last year.

I had been fighting off furious suppliers and their unpaid invoices the year before that.

Abandoned construction projects. Lawsuit payouts. Notices for unpaid taxes.

They were all stuffed inside my desk drawer.

I had sent Beatrice three separate emails. I texted her twice. I even called her for forty minutes straight, begging her to understand the financial reality of her father's company.

Her exact words to me were:

"Can you just show a little ambition for once? Stop bothering me with your corporate whining."

Fine.

I won't bother you anymore.

You wanted the company today. You got it.

Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

I pulled my phone out of the glovebox and shot a text to my best friend, Mario.

"Are you free tonight? I'm buying drinks at your spot."

Three seconds later, he replied.

"You're paying? Did the sky fall down? What happened?"

"I'm divorced."

"What time? I'm going to murder that Sinclair woman."

"No, don't."

I typed out the next line as fast as I could.

"I'm buying drinks to celebrate."

There was a ten-second pause before his next message popped up.

"Are you insane?"

I chuckled and started the engine.

My phone started ringing.

Victor Sinclair.

I glanced at the caller ID and hit decline.

Today was the happiest day of my life in three years.

My father-in-law. Wait, my ex-father-in-law's calls could wait for another day.

Mario's smokehouse was tucked away in a grimy corner on the Southside.

Twenty sticky tables. No air conditioning. Just three massive industrial fans blowing warm air around.

The beer was three bucks a bottle. You grabbed your own ribs from the warmer, and he tallied up the bones on your plate to charge you at the end.

By the time I got there, he already had a table set up in the back alley.

Eight bottles of cheap lager sat between us. Four were already popped open.

They were all for him.

"Spill it. What the hell is going on." He shoved an open bottle into my hand.

I gave him the play-by-play of exactly what went down in the boardroom.

I left out the part where I giggled in my car for half an hour.

Mario listened. Then he slammed his fork down on the plastic table.

"That arrogant piece of work! She slapped you in front of the whole board? Who does she think she is! You've been breaking your back for that sinking ship for three years."

"Mario."

"What?"

"The company is eighty million in the hole."

Mario froze.

A piece of brisket hung halfway out of his mouth. His jaw literally unhinged. He sat there completely paralyzed for ten whole seconds.

Then he slowly pulled the meat from his mouth and set it down.

"How much?"

"Eighty million. Probably more by now."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that today, Beatrice forced me to hand the company over to her golden boy, Oliver. And right now, they are probably popping vintage champagne to celebrate stealing a hollow shell drowning in eighty million dollars of debt."

Mario opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

He grabbed his beer, chugged a massive gulp, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"So you're telling me you're happy?"

"I am ecstatic."

"Are you actually happy?"

"I have never been this happy in my entire life."

Mario stared at me for ten long seconds. Then he slapped the table and burst out laughing.

It started as a chuckle. Then it grew into a wheeze. Finally, he was howling, slumped over the table, pounding his fist against the plastic chair.

A guy at the next table looked over, absolutely convinced we were out of our minds.

"This is poetry!" Mario wiped a tear from his eye. "What do you even call this? Volunteering to jump on a live grenade!"

"Pretty much."

"Does this Oliver guy have any clue?"

"Not a chance. He stood behind Beatrice the whole time, chest puffed out, eyes full of determination. He looked exactly like a tech bro walking up to accept a startup award."

Mario lost it all over again.

When he finally caught his breath, a thought hit him. "Wait. Why didn't you just shut the place down before? Or file for bankruptcy?"

I took a sip of my beer.

"Do you really think Victor would let me close it? That company is his life's work. Plus, I was the legal representative. If I filed for liquidation, I'd be the first one in the crosshairs. For three years, I've been trying to plug the holes. But eventually, I realized there were just more holes underneath."

"But the legal rep changed today?"

"Exactly. Oliver signed the equity transfer. I had the legal team prep the change of representation paperwork weeks ago. The second his pen hit that paper, every single debt, lawsuit, and tax lien."

I raised my bottle and clinked it against his.

"Has absolutely nothing to do with me."

Mario's expression morphed from wild amusement into a bizarre kind of reverence.

"Oscar, were you just waiting for this day?"

"No." I shook my head honestly. "I really wanted to save that company. But it's beyond saving. Beatrice didn't believe me. Victor thought I was just crying wolf. I issued three formal financial warnings. They ignored every single one."

"So if you couldn't save it, you just had to."

"Wait for someone to take the fall."

"And they literally jumped in headfirst."

"She pushed him in with her own two hands."

Mario and I fell silent for three seconds.

Then we both erupted into laughter again.

I drank eight bottles of beer that night. It was the best beer I'd ever tasted.

When I was leaving, Mario insisted on walking me to the street.

He leaned on my shoulder, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "So this Oliver guy. What do you think is the very first thing he's going to do on his first day tomorrow?"

I thought about it.

"He'll probably change the artwork in the CEO's office. He's a guy who obsesses over aesthetics. I heard he framed two copies of his Master's degree. One for his office, one above his bed."

"And then?"

"Then he'll have someone throw all my stuff in the trash and order a complete office remodel."

"And then?"

"And then." I looked out into the night street. "He's going to open the desk drawer and look at the financial statements."

Mario shivered.

"I almost feel bad for the guy."

"Don't feel bad for him," I patted his back. "Feel bad for the eighty million."

How did I know exactly what happened on Oliver's first day?

Sarah texted me.

My former secretary. Yesterday, Beatrice ordered her to become Oliver's personal assistant starting today.

Sarah's text read exactly like this:

"Mr. Pendleton, the new boss told me to clear everything out of your office. Do you want me to mail you that little cactus?"

I typed back:

"Throw it away. I've been watering that thing for three years. It only survived out of sheer spite. Just like the company."

Sarah sent back a crying-laughing emoji.

Half an hour later, my phone buzzed again.

"Mr. Sterling just finished his introductory meeting with the execs. Richard presented last quarter's financials. Mr. Sterling has now locked himself in his office. The door is deadbolted."

I was sitting at home, eating instant ramen.

Yes. Instant ramen.

Not because I was broke.

Because for the last three years, Beatrice banned me from eating it. She said it made the house smell cheap.

Now that I was a free man, I went to the supermarket and bought one of every single flavor on the shelf.

Spicy beef. Chicken teriyaki. Shrimp combo.

Right now, I was slurping down the chili lime flavor.

I hadn't tasted this in three years.

I took a massive bite, so incredibly satisfied that I could feel my toes uncurling.

Absolute heaven.

I typed back to Sarah while chewing:

"Don't panic. Last quarter was just the appetizer."

Sarah: "What does that mean?"

Me: "Wait until he sees last year's annual report."

Sarah: "Mr. Pendleton. I'm actually a little scared."

Me: "Scared of what? You're an employee. The company got a new owner. As long as you get your paycheck, you're fine. And if the checks bounce, it's not your problem anymore."

Sarah: "No. I'm scared Mr. Sterling is going to pass out and no one is in there to catch him."

I choked on my noodles and nearly died coughing.

At 1:00 PM, another text came through.

"Mr. Sterling ordered Richard to pull up the detailed ledgers for the last three years. Richard was on the phone for forty minutes. He just wheeled three massive boxes of archives in there. The office door is locked again."

At 2:00 PM.

"Three suppliers just showed up demanding payment. Mr. Sterling came out to handle it. He talked to them for twenty minutes. When he walked back in, his glasses were totally fogged up and the muscle in his cheek was twitching."

Three suppliers.

Only three.

Before I left, the actual number of suppliers with outstanding balances was fourteen.

And these three were the polite ones.

The other eleven were probably warming up their engines right now.

I put my phone down and turned on the TV.

I flipped through a few channels until I found a stand-up comedy special.

The sound of jokes mixing with the smell of cheap ramen. My soul was at absolute peace.

At 6:00 PM, Beatrice called.

I hesitated.

Not about whether to answer it.

I was hesitating about what tone of voice I should use.

Ultimately, I chose the best option. I let it ring out.

She called back two more times.

On the third try, I picked up.

"Hello?"

"Oscar Pendleton! You better explain to me right now why this company owes Apex Construction one point two million dollars!"

Her voice was an octave higher than usual. It was so piercing I had to pull the phone two inches away from my ear.

I got sick of that tone three years ago.

"That was the final payment for the October project last year. I told you about it. You were vacationing in the Bahamas. Your exact reply to me was, 'Stop bothering me with this trivial garbage.'"

Dead silence on the other end.

"Then why didn't you handle it!"

"I tried. I drafted a payment plan. It required your signature for approval. But that was the day you and Oliver went to that symphony in the city and skipped work. I followed up twice after that. You ghosted me."

More silence.

Longer this time.

"What about the rest of it? Richard says there's a whole pile."

"I told you about all of them. By email, by text, and in person. Seven different times. You didn't acknowledge a single one."

"You."

"Beatrice, you're the majority shareholder now. These problems belong to you and your CEO. I'm just the ex-husband who got kicked out with nothing. I really can't help you."

"You son of a!"

"Oh, by the way. A few more suppliers might drop by tomorrow. Try to be nice to them. Don't do what I did. I was way too polite, and they ended up chasing me around the parking lot."

I hung up.

Then I brewed myself a cup of tea.

Green tea.

When Beatrice lived here, she only drank espresso. She said tea tasted like dirty water.

Dirty water?

I took a sip.

The aroma was incredible.

It didn't taste like dirty water at all.