Mark: What is on that screen, Emily? Turn it off!
Emily: Why don't you ask Chloe? She helped you set up the offshore accounts, didn't she?
Mark: Security! Turn off the main power right now!
Chloe: Mark, do something! She's crazy!
Emily: Crazy? No, Chloe. I'm just thorough.
Mark rushed toward the edge of the stage, his polished shoes squeaking against the slick wooden floor. A security guard moved closer, but when he saw the legal documents popping up on the giant screen behind me, he stopped in his tracks, staring up in total disbelief.
Mark: Don't look at that! It's all fake!
Emily: The bank records aren't fake, Mark. Neither is the wire transfer you sent from our joint estate account yesterday morning.
Chloe: That money was for my unborn child! Mark is the father!
Emily: I know he is. And that's why your father's company is going to lose its corporate lease by midnight.
Chloe's face drained of all color. She grabbed Mark's arm, her fake confidence disappearing in an instant as the crowd of business executives began taking photos of the bank statements displayed on the screen.
Chloe: What is she talking about, Mark? What lease?
Mark: Emily, please... we can talk about the divorce lawyer in private. Don't do this to my business reputation.
Emily: You tore my gown in the coatroom to hide my microphone, Mark. You wanted to humiliate me so I would run away crying.
Mark: It was an accident! Chloe tripped on your hem!
Emily: Please don't record me from bad angles, everyone. My husband and his guest tore my dress, but they made sure my lawyer got a very clear view of their fraud.
The crowd let out a wave of nervous laughter, phones clicking rapidly as I pointed toward the large projection screen. Clear photos of Mark and Chloe outside a luxury real estate office in Miami filled the monitor, complete with dates and timestamps.
Mark: You hired a private investigator on me?
Emily: I didn't need to hire anyone. You left your laptop open on our kitchen counter three weeks ago.
Chloe: Mark, you promised me she didn't know anything! You said she was stupid!
Emily: Stupid? I built his company from a two-room office while you were still in college, Chloe.
Mark took a deep breath, trying to smooth his untidy hair. He stepped onto the bottom stair of the stage, holding up his hands in a fake motion of peace.
Mark: Emily, look at me. We spent ten years building this life. You can have the penthouse. You can have the vacation house in Aspen. Just take the screen down.
Emily: The penthouse is already in my mother's trust fund, Mark. You signed that deed over to her five years ago when you needed her investment money.
Mark: What... what are you saying?
Emily: I'm saying you don't own a single room in that building. And as of five minutes ago, the board of directors just received an emergency email from my legal team.
Chloe gasped, stumbling backward into a waiter who was holding a tray of champagne glasses. The glass shattered against the floor, making half the room jump in surprise.
Chloe: Mark, my father invested three million dollars into your merger! Is my trust fund safe?
Mark: Shut up, Chloe! Just let me handle my wife!
Emily: I am not your wife anymore, Mark. I'm your primary creditor.