Chapter 3Divorcing Me Is A Federal Crime

"Director Davies," the deep, gravelly voice answered after half a ring. "Sam? You're supposed to be on mandatory leave. Why is this line active?"

"Director, I need to submit an immediate field report."

In brisk, clinical terms, I summarized the incident: the unlawful coercion, the extortion attempt, the conspiracy to breach an active operative's domestic status, and the physical threats issued by Brandon Ward.

The silence on the other end was deafening, followed by the sharp, violent smash of a ceramic mug against a mahogany desk.

"Who the hell is threatening the Chief Protection Officer of the Executive Directorate?" Davies roared, his voice shaking the speaker.

Before I could answer, Brandon lunged forward and ripped the phone from my grip.

"Listen here, you old bastard!" Brandon screamed into the mic, completely intoxicated on his own perceived power. "I don't give a shit what two-bit security firm you run. Sam's wife is mine tonight. You tell your boy to sign the papers, or I will use my family's connections to have your entire agency audited and shut down by sunrise!"

There was a three-second pause on the other end. When Davies spoke again, his voice had dropped below freezing. "Young man, are you actively extorting an agent of the federal government?"

"I’m Brandon Ward, you senile prick! In this town, what I want, I take!"

With a feral grin, Brandon threw the Department-issued phone onto the hardwood floor and stomped his leather boot down onto it, crushing the screen and battery into scrap metal.

I stared at the shattered plastic. In ten years of active counter-terror details, I had never seen a civilian sign their own death warrant with such enthusiasm.

"There," Brandon spat, sliding a thick legal binder across the table with one hand while keeping the other draped over Sierra. "Call’s over. Sign the damn papers."

I glanced at the legal documents. They were standard no-fault dissolution agreements, already stamped and notarized by a private firm earlier that afternoon. She had carried them in her purse all evening.

Without a word, I picked up the pen, flipped to the final page, and signed my legal name in sharp, decisive ink.

Sierra stared at me, her eyes widening slightly in shock. "You... you're not even going to fight for me?"

I looked up at her, my expression completely blank. "Isn't this what you wanted? You set up the ambush. You brought your billionaire backer. I’m giving you exactly what you asked for. Now sign your part, Sierra. Before Brandon realizes how expensive you really are."

Her face went pale, then curdled into bitter rage. "Fine! You think you're indispensable, Mercer? You're nothing!"

She snatched the pen and scrawled her name beneath mine.

Five years of domestic stability, erased in four seconds.

Looking at the signed pages, I felt no sorrow. Only an incredible, suffocating weight lifting from my shoulders. For the first time in half a decade, I was free of her shallow, endless demands.

"It's done. She's your problem now," I said, sliding out of the booth. "Have a wonderful life."

"Hold your horses, Mercer," Brandon’s voice turned sinister. He stepped in front of the exit, a cruel sneer stretching across his face. "Your business with Sierra is settled. Now we settle the debt from high school."