He Took My IPO, I Take His Empire Novel – I had turned down a top offer on Wall Street and moved back home to grind for my boyfriend’s startup for three long years. Today was supposed to be the big day, the day the company finally went public. At the celebration banquet, under the glittering lights, my boyfriend, Adrian Cole, made an announcement.
A quiet female technician in the company, someone who worked under me, was actually his real fiancée. That woman leaned delicately into Adrian’s arms and raised her glass at me with a triumphant smile. “Lucy, thanks for every line of code you wrote in the past three years. All your work is registered under my patents now.” “Oh, and the old house you sold to help company out back then? It’s our new marital home.” The man I had loved for seven years looked at me with an expression full of pity. “Lucy, what we had was gratitude, not love.
Here’s three hundred thousand. Take it and start your own life.” I took the check, tore it into pieces in front of the entire room, and watched the fragments drift to the floor. If I could build your company up to an IPO, I could just as easily bring it crashing down. *** My head still throbbed from the hangover when my phone began vibrating violently on the nightstand. I slid the screen open.
Dozens of news notifications flooded my feed, all carrying my name and Adrian’s. I tapped on the most popular one. It had been posted at three in the morning. Less than four hours after I had walked out of the banquet. Adrian’s PR team was always that fast. The statement was flawless, a template for corporate breakups. [Due to differing visions for future development, co-founder Ms. Lucy Hart voluntarily stepped down and received a generous compensation package.] [Mr. Cole stated that although he felt reluctant, he would always be grateful for Ms. Hart’s contributions.
The company would forever be her home.] The photos they used had clearly been handpicked. One was a profile shot of me speaking at a meeting, looking focused and a little distant. The other showed Adrian at the bell-ringing ceremony, hollow-eyed and red-rimmed. He painted himself as a loyal, sentimental entrepreneur. And me, as the cooperative former partner who took the money and walked away peacefully. A generous compensation? He meant the three-hundred-thousand-dollar check I tore to shreds? Ridiculous.
I shut off my phone, stepped barefoot onto the cold floor, and walked into the bathroom. The woman in the mirror looked a little worn from the hangover, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that cut through the haze. Adrian really thought a few PR statements could rewrite the truth. I got dressed and drove straight to the company. It was rush hour. The lobby was packed. The employees who used to greet me with flattering smiles suddenly acted like they had seen a ghost.
Heads dropped. They hurried away. Expressionless, I headed toward the turnstile. A harsh beep sounded. A red light flashed. The screen displayed two glaring words: Access denied. I tried another turnstile. Still Access denied. Inside the security booth, Frank Cooper, the guard who used to greet me every morning, kept his head buried in the logbook, pretending to write. I walked up and tapped my knuckles against the glass. “Frank.” He hesitated for a long moment before finally standing up. His smile looked worse than crying. “Ms. Hart.” “What’s wrong with my badge?” He shifted uncomfortably. “Management gave the order.
All your permissions were revoked at midnight.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Not just the building access. Your company email, your internal accounts, everything has been shut down.” So this was Adrian’s idea of “the company will always be your home.” I couldn’t even walk in the front door. I left the building and drove back to my apartment complex. The upscale place was only ten minutes from the office. Adrian had once rented it for me “out of concern,” saying, “Lucy, you work too much. Living closer will help you rest.” Now I knew he just wanted me to devote even more hours to the company. As soon as I pulled up, I saw Mr. Benson, the landlord, standing downstairs with his hands on his hips, looking annoyed.
“Ms. Hart, finally,” he snapped the moment he saw me. He shoved a printed email into my hands. “Take a look. Your company just emailed me saying they’re no longer paying your rent starting this month.” “The contract clearly states the company pays or you don’t live here. Since they pulled out, you…” He looked me up and down, his tone turning harsh. “You have three days to move out.” “If not, I’ll clear your belongings myself.” I stared at him silently. My gaze made him flinch, but he forced himself to keep talking. “Staring at me won’t change anything. Paper doesn’t lie. Three days, or I’m calling the cops.” He stuffed the email into my arms an