A sigh. The benevolent peacekeeper.
"Let's consider the matter settled. Sign this document, and I'll pretend none of this happened."
She lifted a folder from the coffee table. Held it out.
I took it.
The bold black title stabbed at my eyes.
**Company Equity Transfer Agreement.**
My name, printed clearly under "Transferor."
Under "Transferee," three words in stark relief: **Max Pruitt.**
Jade's voice droned on, laced with sickening charity.
"At the end of the day, you wronged Max. Treat this equity as compensation. Andrew, this is what you owe him."
*I owe him?*
I looked at the woman before me—a face I once knew better than my own—and saw a stranger.
I didn't argue. There was no point.
Silently, I opened my bag. From beneath a stack of hospital receipts, I pulled out a different document. Simon Chavez had printed it the night before my discharge.
I placed it on the coffee table.
Slid it directly over her ridiculous equity transfer agreement.
Jade frowned. "What is this?"
My voice was steady. Distinct.
"A divorce agreement. You sign yours. Then I'll sign yours."
