Chapter 8 - THE AFTERMATH
By two o'clock in the morning, the rain outside the Palais de Tokyo had turned into a steady, freezing drizzle.
The crowds were gone. The searchlights were off. The red carpet was soaked, heavy, and silent.
Inside the VIP lounge overlooking the Seine, Eleanor sat at a dark glass table. Jean-Luc Dubois was sitting across from her, drinking vintage cognac from a heavy crystal tumbler.
"He is still outside, Eleanor," Dubois said softly, looking through the floor-to-ceiling glass window down at the street below. "He has been sitting on the stone bench for an hour. The security guards took his car."
Eleanor didn't look down at the street. She was sipping her tea—still hot, still perfect.
"He has his phone," she remarked casually.
"His phone was deactivated thirty minutes ago," Henri said, walking into the lounge with a fresh folder. "His corporate accounts have been frozen. His personal cards were declined at the Four Seasons. And the board of Keelin Tech has just officially accepted his resignation, effective immediately."
Dubois let out a low whistle. "You stripped him to the bone, my dear. I have seen divorces in Paris, but this... this was an execution."
"It wasn't a divorce, Jean-Luc," Eleanor said, setting her cup down on the glass table with a delicate clink. "A divorce is what you give a partner who failed in a marriage. An execution is what you give a thief who thought you were too stupid to count the vault."
She stood up, smoothing the front of her emerald dress.
Down on the street below, Alexander sat under a streetlamp, his blue velvet tuxedo jacket soaked through with freezing rain. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His sleek leather shoes were stained with mud.
He was staring at his iPad screen, which displayed a single, relentless message:
[NETWORK ERROR: ACCOUNT SUSPENDED BY SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR]
He heard the heavy, muffled thud of a car door closing.
He looked up through the rain.
The matte-black 1968 Rolls-Royce Phantom VI pulled up to the curb right in front of his bench.
The rear window rolled down six inches.
Eleanor looked out at him. She was warm inside the leather interior, framed by the soft amber glow of the cabin light.
"Eleanor..." Alexander choked out, staggering to his feet, rushing to the side of the car. He grabbed the top of the glass window with his blue, shaking fingers. "Eleanor, please! Talk to me! We can figure this out! We were married for fifteen years! You can't just throw me onto the street!"
Eleanor looked down at his trembling, desperate hands gripping her window.
"Fifteen years, Alex," she said, her voice smooth and completely devoid of hatred. "And for twelve of them, you treated me like a ghost in your house. You thought I was stupid because I didn't brag about my money. You thought I was weak because I didn't scream at you."
She leaned closer to the glass.
"I didn't mind you having mistresses, Alex. Men like you are predictable. But you made one fatal mistake."
"What?" Alexander sobbed, tears mixing with the freezing rain on his cheeks. "What mistake?"
"You used my father's initial trust fund to capitalize Keelin Tech fifteen years ago," she whispered. "You forgot who owned the seed. I just came back for the harvest."
She reached out her gloved hand and gently unclasped his fingers from her window, one by one.
"Goodbye, Alexander. Enjoy Frankfurt."
She pressed a button. The electric window rolled up silently, sealing out the sound of his begging.
May you like
"Drive," she told the chauffeur.
The heavy Rolls-Royce pulled away from the curb, its red taillights cutting through the dark Paris rain, leaving Alexander Keelin standing completely alone under the flickering yellow streetlamp.
