Chapter 8 - The Final SettlementAt 2:00 p.m. that same afternoon, the final legal accounting meeting took place in a small conference room at the County Courthouse.
Eric sat across from me, his legal counsel sitting beside him with his head in his hands.
The final wire transfer for the sale of 412 Elmcrest Lane had cleared thirty minutes prior: $1.45 million, paid in full by the corporate relocation buyer, deposited directly into my private international account.
Arthur Vance placed the final dissolution papers on the table.
“Let’s review the terms,” Arthur said, his voice echoing in the quiet room. “Ms. Clara Vance retains 100% of the proceeds from the real estate sale. She retains all personal property, vehicle titles, and liquid investments held prior to and during the marriage under the terms of the prenup.”
Eric didn't even look at the paper. He sat staring at his hands, which were dirty and scraped from trying to move his boxes off the lawn before the city code enforcement arrived.
“What about my firm?” Eric rasped, his voice barely audible.
“Your firm, Vance Marketing LLC, is currently under audit,” Arthur replied cheerfully. “However, as part of this global settlement, my client has agreed not to pursue criminal charges regarding the $84,000 in corporate funds you diverted to pay for Miss Madison’s personal rent, medical bills, and luxury purchases over the last eight months—on one condition.”
Eric looked up, a tiny glimmer of hope in his hollow eyes. “What condition?”
Arthur slid a single sheet of paper across the table.
“You sign a complete, irrevocable Waiver of Claim, a permanent non-disclosure agreement, and a five-year civil restraining order prohibiting you, your mother, or Miss Madison from contacting Clara or her family by any means.”
Eric looked at me. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something—to deliver one last insult, one last plea, one last lie.
I didn't look back at him. I was looking at my watch.
My flight to London Heathrow was departing in four hours.
Slowly, heavily, Eric picked up the pen. His signature was shaky, a jagged mess of ink that looked nothing like the proud, arrogant signature he had used on our marriage certificate six years ago.
He pushed the paper back across the table.
“There,” Eric whispered. “You took everything. Are you happy now?”
May you like
I stood up, picked up my leather handbag, and adjusted my coat.
“I didn't take anything from you, Eric,” I said softly, looking down at him for the last time. “I just stopped letting you steal from me.”
