Chapter 3 - The Unraveling
Grant stood frozen,
his arms still half-wrapped around a woman who now felt like a lead weight.
He looked at the bins,
then at the guests,
then back at me.
"Claire,
please,"
he stammered,
his voice cracking.
"We can talk about this."
"It was just a mistake."
"I was lonely."
"You were always so busy with work."
"I was busy making sure you didn't bankrupt us with your 'investments',
Grant."
"While you were taking Sloane to the Maldives,"
"I was negotiating the merger that saved your reputation."
"And while your mother was picking out this ridiculous cake,"
"I was meeting with a private investigator who documented every second of your betrayal."
I walked over to Sloane and handed her a tissue.
"Don't cry for him,
Sloane."
"He's not the man you think he is."
"He's a man who has zero dollars in his personal savings account."
"He's a man who hasn't paid for a single meal in three years."
Sloane looked up,
her eyes red and puffy.
"But...
the trust fund?"
I tilted my head,
mocking her confusion.
"The trust fund is in my name."
"Grant was just an authorized user."
"An authorization I revoked two hours ago."
Vivian lunged at me then,
her fingers curved like talons,
but the security guards were faster.
They caught her arms and held her back as she shrieked obscenities that would have made a sailor blush.
"You're a monster!"
she yelled.
"You've been planning this!"
"I've been defending myself,
Vivian."
"There's a difference."
"You thought you could walk into my home,"
"insult my womanhood,"
"and replace me with a younger version of yourself."
"All while using my money to fund the transition."
"Did you really think I was that weak?"
I turned back to the guests,
who were now recording the scene on their phones.
I didn't stop them.
I wanted the world to see the "real wife" Vivian had boasted about.
"Ladies and gentlemen,"
I said,
raising my own glass of champagne.
"I think it's time for the party to end."
"The valets have your cars ready."
"And for those of you on the board,"
"I'll see you Monday morning for the vote to remove Grant from the registry."
One by one,
the guests began to file out,
their faces a mix of shock and unholy glee.
They knew they had just witnessed the social execution of the year.
As the last guest left,
I turned to the three people who had tried to destroy me.
"The house is being locked down in ten minutes."
"I suggest you take your bins and find a hotel."
"Though,"
I added,
looking at Grant,
May you like
"I'd check your credit cards first."
"I heard there's a bit of a 'freeze' on the accounts."
