Chapter 4 - The Ring on the Wrong Finger
Thursday morning brought a torrential downpour, the kind of gray, heavy rain that turned the New York skyline into a smudge of concrete and weeping glass. I was sitting in my sunroom with a cup of Earl Grey tea when my phone rang. It was an unknown number, but the area code was local.
I tapped accept.
"Claire?"
Grant’s voice sounded hollow, ragged, like a man who hadn’t slept in seventy-two hours.
"Grant," I said evenly. "If this is about the corporate accounts, call my attorney. If it’s about your wardrobe, it’s at the UPS store on Lexington."
"Please. We need to talk. Just... fifteen minutes. Meet me at the cafe on 54th."
"I don't drink coffee with desperate men, Grant. Especially men who smell like regret and cheap cologne."
"Savannah left," he blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in a desperate, pathetic rush.
I paused, my teacup stopping halfway to my mouth. "Oh? Did the maternity dresses not fit her standards?"
"She... she cleared out our secondary bank account yesterday afternoon," Grant groaned, his voice cracking. "The one I set up offshore. All fifty thousand dollars I had left in liquid cash. Gone. And when I confronted her about it last night, she laughed in my face. She said... she said if I didn't hand over the deed to the Hamptons summer house by tonight, she’d go to the press with fabricated charges of domestic abuse."
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Karma was not just a boomerang; right now, she was driving a steamroller.
"Well, Grant," I said, my tone dripping with icy sweetness. "That sounds like quite a pickle. Have you tried asking her nicely? Maybe show her your engagement ring?"
"Claire, please," he sobbed—actually sobbed—over the line. "I was an idiot. I was arrogant. I thought... I thought she was young, and she made me feel powerful. But she’s a monster. She doesn't love me. She only wanted the name, the money..."
"And now you have neither," I finished for him. "Welcome to reality, Grant. It’s a bit colder down here without a corporate safety net, isn't it?"
"You can fix this," he pleaded, his voice rising in panic. "You still control the master trust! If you lift the freeze, I can pay her off, I can salvage the merger, and we can... we can work things out. We can go to counseling, Claire. Like you always wanted."
I let the silence stretch for five agonizing seconds.
"Grant," I said softly, every word distinct and lethal. "When I stood in that boutique and watched you stand next to your pregnant mistress while she flaunted that ring, do you know what I realized?"
"What?" he whispered.
May you like
"I realized that the fourteen years I spent building your career, washing your shirts, and pretending to respect your mediocre intellect was the greatest waste of my life. But the best part?" I smiled into the phone. "The best part is watching you destroy yourself without me having to lift a finger. Enjoy your wedding on October eighteenth, Grant. I hear orange is very slimming in prison."
I hung up, blocked his number, and tossed the phone onto the sofa.
