Because of his first love, my husband threw $250 million at me and demanded a divorce. Then he looked at our seven-year-old son and said, “Divorce me. The child is yours. I don’t have a son with such a low IQ.” But on the day we walked into court, my little boy needed only ten seconds to bring their entire family crashing down.

The mandatory pre-trial mediation was held in a glass-walled conference room at the city’s most expensive law firm.

Julian arrived looking like a conqueror, flanked by three aggressive, high-priced pitbull attorneys. I arrived with one lawyer—an old friend of my grandfather’s who looked half asleep. I had insisted Leo be present, playing quietly with a Rubik's cube in the corner.

"Let's make this quick," Julian's lead attorney barked, tossing a thick binder onto the table. "My client is offering $300 million and full custody surrender. Mrs. Vance, if you reject this, we will drag you through a grueling custody battle. We will highlight your son's... limitations... to prove you require maximum financial distance."

Julian leaned back in his leather chair, smirking. "Take the money, Elena. Buy an island. Leave the real business to the adults."

My lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose. "Mr. Vance, my client's financial counter-offer relies on an accurate valuation of your assets. You claim Vance Vanguard is worth $1.2 billion."

"It is," Julian said proudly.

From the corner of the room, the clicking of the Rubik's cube stopped.

"No, it isn't," Leo said softly, not even looking up. "Vance Vanguard’s liquid valuation is $840 million. You inflated the quarterly projections by leveraging non-existent real estate in Dubai to secure a fraudulent bridge loan."

The room went dead silent. Julian’s lawyers stared at the eight-year-old boy in absolute shock.