Chapter 10 - Jasmine’s First Big Mistake
By noon, three financial reporters had contacted me.
I declined every request.
So did Westbridge.
Aaron released a statement through counsel saying the leaked messages were incomplete, illegally obtained, and lacked context.
He did not deny writing them.
Jasmine's attorney announced she had not authorized the release.
Peter Cole denied involvement.
Everyone denied everything except the existence of the mess.
Nathan came to Marblehead.
“You're trending.”
“Please never say that to me again.”
He handed me coffee.
“I mean it. Stay offline.”
“I am.”
“Reporters are going to ask whether you knew about North Star.”
“I won't answer.”
“Good.”
“What does Aaron's message mean legally?”
“We're divorce lawyers, not securities prosecutors.”
“Helpful.”
“My point is wait for the investigation.”
So I did.
For three days.
Then Jasmine made the mistake that nearly destroyed her credibility.
She gave an interview.
Not to a financial newspaper.
Not through counsel.
To a popular lifestyle podcast.
The episode appeared with the title:
THE OTHER WOMAN SPEAKS: “HE TOLD ME HIS MARRIAGE WAS DEAD.”
I stared at the headline in disbelief.
Nathan called before I finished the first ten minutes.
“Please tell me you're not listening.”
“I’m listening.”
“Why?”
“Morbid curiosity.”
“Her attorney must be unconscious.”
Jasmine cried during the interview.
She apologized to me.
She described Aaron’s lies.
Then she began discussing Prescott.
That was the mistake.
She speculated about North Star.
Speculated about Meridian.
Speculated about internal board motivations.
Some of what she said she knew firsthand.
Some clearly she did not.
By evening, Prescott placed her on leave.
Her lawyer quit.
And people who had begun viewing her sympathetically reversed overnight.
The internet is cruel to anyone who gives it too much access.
I didn't celebrate.
I texted only:
Get another attorney. Stop talking publicly.
She replied:
I know. I messed up.
Yes.
She had.
But that mistake created a second problem.
During the interview, Jasmine mentioned that Aaron once called me “the real strategist in the family.”
A clip went viral.
People began digging.
Former Prescott employees started sharing stories.
Claire organized the investor retreat.
Claire rewrote executive onboarding.
Claire caught errors in a presentation.
Claire warned Aaron against a failed vendor.
Some stories were exaggerated.
Some were accurate.
I became an internet character again.
Only this time, instead of “humiliated wife,” I was “secret genius wife.”
Equally ridiculous.
I wasn't secretly running Prescott.
I contributed.
That was all.
But nuance loses to virality.
One video received six million views.
A creator held up two photographs.
One of Aaron at a conference.
One of me at a gala.
Caption:
HE THOUGHT SHE WAS JUST THE WIFE. SHE WAS DOING THE HOMEWORK.
I showed Emily.
She laughed for two full minutes.
“This is terrible.”
“It’s funny.”
“It’s inaccurate.”
“That has never stopped the internet.”
I couldn't argue.
Then something useful happened.
A retired Prescott executive named David Lin contacted Rebecca.
He had worked with Aaron during the North Star onboarding.
He possessed contemporaneous notes.
According to reporting that eventually became public, David had objected to North Star’s fee structure.
Aaron overruled him.
Still not necessarily illegal.
But it established process concerns.
Prescott's board extended Aaron’s leave.
Westbridge did not call for his removal.
That surprised reporters.
Richard explained privately.
“We don't make governance decisions through headlines.”
Good.
Neither would I.
One afternoon, Aaron asked to meet.
Public place.
Thirty minutes.
I agreed.
We sat at a quiet café.
He looked worse than before.
“You heard Jasmine’s interview.”
“Yes.”
“She shouldn't have done it.”
“No.”
“You told her not to speak?”
“How do you know?”
“She told me.”
“She needs to stop telling everyone everything.”
For the first time in weeks, Aaron laughed.
It was small.
Familiar.
Painful.
Then he became serious.
“I want you to know that Meridian message wasn't what it looks like.”
“I don't want an explanation.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm connected to a shareholder group. Anything you tell me creates problems.”
He stopped.
“You're right.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I keep forgetting.”
“Forgetting what?”
“That you're not my wife in the way you used to be.”
The sentence hurt.
“You need independent counsel.”
“I have it.”
“Then listen to them.”
He stared at me.
“I was offered a resignation package.”
I froze.
“Don't tell me details.”
“I haven't accepted.”
“Aaron.”
“What would you do?”
I almost laughed.
“You cannot ask me that.”
“Not as Westbridge.”
“As Claire.”
That was worse.
The man I loved was asking whether he should surrender the role around which he had built his identity.
I wanted to answer.
But doing so would make his future my responsibility again.
“No.”
He looked hurt.
“I can't.”
“Because of conflict?”
“Because this has to be your decision.”
He nodded slowly.
“I think I know what I need to do.”
I didn't ask.
The next morning, Prescott Global announced Aaron had voluntarily resigned as CEO.
He retained his family shareholding but stepped down from management.
No finding of fraud had been made against him.
The board cited governance failures and the need for leadership stability.
Samuel Price became interim CEO.
The stock rose four percent.
Aaron's resignation letter was surprisingly simple.
He accepted responsibility for failing to disclose conflicts appropriately.
He apologized to employees.
He said leadership required judgment, and his judgment had failed.
He did not mention me.
He did not mention Jasmine.
For once, he didn't use either woman to explain his behavior.
I read the letter twice.
Then closed it.
At noon, a bouquet arrived.
No romantic note.
Only:
You were right. Becoming better can't be your responsibility.
—Aaron
I put the flowers in water.
That night, I cried.
Not because I wanted him back.
Because finally, months after our marriage ended emotionally, Aaron had done one thing that resembled the man I once believed he could be.
And sometimes seeing someone grow after they've lost you hurts almost as much as losing them.
But while Aaron’s career chapter was ending, Westbridge was about to offer me something I never expected.
Not a committee seat.
Not a symbolic role.
A job.
May you like
And accepting it would force me to decide whether the life I had abandoned years earlier was something I actually wanted back.
---
