Instead, I got pointed fingers, cruel laughter, and a divorce envelope handed to me like a restaurant bill. Everyone called me the “test-run husband.” My wife announced I was her firm’s first case. She told me to sign the papers and leave.
So I did exactly that.
I signed, smiled, and walked out quietly.
What she didn’t know was that I’d been funding her dream with $20 million of my own money.
And in the next 60 seconds, I was about to pull every single dollar out from under her.
The phone call started before I even reached my car.
456 missed calls.
Then someone showed up at my door, and everything she’d built came crashing down in ways she never saw coming.
My name is Trevor Ashford. I’m 46 years old, and for the past 22 years I’ve been running Ashford Capital Management—a private equity firm I built from absolutely nothing. I started with $50,000 borrowed from my late father and turned it into a portfolio worth north of $200 million.
I don’t say that to brag.
I say it because understanding where I came from makes what happened next so much worse.
I met Victoria Cambridge at a fundraising gala 14 years ago.
She was 28 then—fresh out of law school, working as an associate at Morrison and Blake, one of Chicago’s most prestigious corporate law firms. She had this way of commanding a room without even trying. Sharp intellect, sharper wit, and the kind of confidence that made senior partners nervous.
When she laughed at my joke about corporate lawyers being professional argument-starters, I knew I was done for.
Our wedding was everything Victoria wanted.
The Drake Hotel ballroom. Three hundred guests. Coverage in Chicago Luxury Magazine.
She wore a custom Vera Wang gown that cost more than most people’s cars, and I didn’t care about the price tag because seeing her happy made every dollar worth it.
We honeymooned on the Amalfi Coast. Spent three weeks drinking wine and planning our future.
She wanted to make partner at Morrison and Blake within five years. Then, eventually, start her own firm specializing in corporate litigation and mergers.
I told her I’d support her however she needed.
For thirteen years, I kept that promise.
Victoria worked insane hours.
Eighty-hour weeks were normal during trial prep. Weekends disappeared into case files and depositions. I never complained because I understood ambition.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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