# My Husband Ordered Two Hundred Strikes—Then He Learned Who My Father Really Was

The boardroom at Obsidian Capital was designed to intimidate. Perched on the fiftieth floor of a glass skyscraper in Midtown, it featured severe angles, cold steel accents, and a sprawling, unobstructed view of the city.

Trent Lawson, a man who wore his bespoke suits like armor and carried himself with aggressive arrogance, sat at the head of the table. He was casually scrolling through his phone when the heavy doors swung open.

Clara walked in, flanked only by Mr. Sterling. She wore a tailored, double-breasted navy blazer and carried a single, slim leather folder.

"Mrs. Hayes," Trent said, not bothering to stand up. He gestured vaguely to a chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I don't usually meet with charity directors on a Tuesday."

"This isn't a charity call, Mr. Lawson," Clara said, remaining standing. She placed her hands flat on the polished glass table, leaning in slightly. "I’m here about the Crestwood Apartment complex."

Trent chuckled, tossing his phone onto the table. "Ah. The bleeding heart routine. Let me save you some time, Clara. Crestwood isn't for sale. I know you have a hefty endowment, but you can't outbid my projected ROI on a luxury remodel."

"I'm not here to buy it from you," Clara replied smoothly. "I'm here to inform you that you can no longer afford to develop it."

Trent’s smirk faltered slightly. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Sterling stepped forward, opening the leather folder and sliding three documents across the table toward Trent.

"As of 9:00 AM this morning," Clara began, her voice ringing with absolute, icy authority, "the Hayes Foundation, in partnership with Thorne Energy, acquired the primary debt on Obsidian Capital's three largest ongoing construction loans. We bought them at a premium from your underwriters, who were quite eager to offload the risk."

Trent sat up straight, his face paling. "That’s private debt. You can't just—"

"I just did," Clara interrupted. "Document two is a comprehensive dossier compiled by independent environmental auditors. It details forty-seven severe EPA violations across your current luxury sites. Illegal asbestos dumping, improper structural reinforcements, and toxic runoff."

Trent stared at the documents, a bead of sweat forming at his temple. "This is blackmail."

"This is due diligence," Mr. Sterling corrected coolly.

"And finally," Clara said, tapping the third document with a manicured fingernail. "Because you are now in breach of the environmental compliance clauses on the loans we just acquired, I am initiating an immediate call on your debt. You owe us one hundred and twenty million dollars, payable in thirty days. If you fail to pay, we will seize all of your assets, including Crestwood, in default."

The silence in the room was absolute. Trent Lawson stared at the woman he had dismissed as a 'charity director,' realizing he had just walked blindly into a meticulously laid trap.

"What do you want?" Trent forced out, his arrogant facade completely shattered.

"I want the deed to Crestwood Apartments transferred to the Hayes Foundation by the end of the business day," Clara demanded, her eyes locked onto his, unblinking and merciless. "In exchange, we will refinance your debt to a standard term, assuming you correct your environmental violations. And you will never, ever purchase a rent-controlled property in this city again."

Trent swallowed hard, looking at the city skyline he thought he owned. He had no leverage. He was completely outmaneuvered.

"Fine," he gritted out.