Chapter 4 - The Rat in the CornerThree days later, Garrett Vance was released on a hundred-thousand-dollar cash bail, posted by a desperate Vivian who had been forced to pawn her vintage diamond jewelry at a dealer in the Diamond District.
When Garrett walked out of the holding facility, he expected to return to his comfortable life: his high-paying job at Sterling-Hayes, his corporate expense account, and his plush apartment in Soho.
Instead, he walked into a wall of complete collapse.
His corporate ID card was revoked. His personal bank accounts were completely frozen. His name was plastered across the financial pages as a disgraced broker facing felony fraud charges.
At 2:00 PM on Thursday, while I was organizing my late father's estate files at my private townhouse in Greenwich Village, my front doorbell chimed.
I checked the security monitor mounted on the wall.
Standing on my front steps was Garrett.
He looked terrible. His designer suit was wrinkled, his hair was unwashed, and dark, hollow circles shadowed his eyes. Gone was the arrogant, polished man who had thrown a glass of wine in my face six nights ago. In his place was a frantic, desperate animal who realized he was trapped in a cage of his own making.
I opened the heavy oak door, but kept the heavy iron security chain latched.
"Claire!" Garrett gasped, grabbing the edge of the doorframe. "Claire, please! You have to talk to me! You have to listen to me!"
"You have five seconds to leave my porch, Garrett," I said, keeping my voice calm and completely flat. "There is a temporary restraining order in place. If you step any closer, I press this button and police officers will be here in three minutes."
"Claire, please!" he begged, tears actually forming in his red-rimmed eyes. "I made a mistake! I was stressed! My mother was pressuring me... she was going to lose her apartment, Claire! I did it for my family!"
"You stole six hundred thousand dollars from my father's memory to pay for your mother's luxury shopping sprees!" I snapped, my eyes flashing with a sharp, controlled anger. "You threw red wine in my face in front of fifty people because I refused to pay an eight-thousand-dollar dinner bill that you ran up!"
"I was stupid! I was wrong!" Garrett pleaded, leaning his forehead against the iron bars of the gate. "They fired me, Claire! Sterling-Hayes terminated my contract! The state licensing board has suspended my broker's license! My bank accounts are frozen—I don't even have enough money to pay my defense attorney!"
I looked at him through the iron bars, feeling no pity, no nostalgia, and zero regret.
"You thought I was weak, Garrett," I said softly. "You thought because I loved you, I would let you tear me down until there was nothing left of me. But my father didn't build his legacy for you to burn it down."
"Claire... please..." he choked out, dropping to his knees on the concrete steps. "What do you want from me? What do I have to do to make this stop?"
"You're going to give back every single penny you stole," I said, leaning closer to the iron grate. "You're going to sign the full, uncontested divorce settlement drafted by my lawyer. You're going to forfeit your share of our marital property. And then you're going to plead guilty to the criminal fraud charges."
Garrett looked up, his face twisted in horror. "A guilty plea?! That means prison time, Claire! I'll serve three to five years!"
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"Then I guess you'd better get used to wearing something cheaper than designer suits," I replied coldly.
I closed the heavy oak door in his face, ignoring his desperate pounding on the wood until the sound of approaching police sirens echoed down the quiet Greenwich Village street, forcing him to turn and run into the rain like a rat escaping a sinking ship.
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