Chapter 8 - The Broken Mirror and the Eviction Notice
When I returned from Italy in late October, refreshed and sun-kissed, I was greeted at my estate by Harold Vance. We sat in my sunroom overlooking the gardens, which were now ablaze with autumn reds and golds.
"The civil settlement terms have been drafted," Harold announced, placing a manila folder on the glass table.
"Give me the highlights," I said.
"Denise Whitmore has signed a confession of judgment for the entire eighty-four thousand dollars stolen from the corporate accounts. To avoid immediate criminal prosecution by the DA, she has surrendered her remaining personal vehicle and agreed to a strict monthly wage garnishment that will last for the next fifteen years. Her credit is permanently incinerated."
"And Ethan?"
Harold sighed, removing his glasses. "Ethan signed everything without protest. He resigned from all positions within Hale Enterprises. He signed a complete waiver forfeiting any future claim to the Hale Family Living Trust. He is entirely on his own."
"Where is he staying?"
"He’s renting a run-down studio apartment behind a strip mall on South Boulevard. He works sixty hours a week between an auto parts counter and driving for an overnight delivery service. He hasn't spoken to Lauren in two weeks."
"Are they divorcing?"
"It’s worse than a divorce," Harold said with a dark chuckle. "Lauren filed for an emergency spousal support order, claiming she was accustomed to a luxury lifestyle provided by Ethan’s family. The family court judge took one look at their one-month marriage duration, Ethan’s twelve-hundred-dollar monthly income, and your legal affidavit proving Ethan possesses zero independent assets. The judge not only threw out her claim for alimony, but he also ordered Lauren to pay Ethan’s three-hundred-dollar filing fee."
I took a slow sip of my tea. "Poetic justice."
"There's one more thing," Harold added, his expression turning solemn. "Daniel is waiting at the front gate. He has been sitting in his sedan out there since seven o'clock this morning. He asked for ten minutes. Just ten minutes."
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I looked out toward the long tree-lined driveway. Daniel was my only son. When Arthur died, I had poured everything into ensuring Daniel’s financial security, perhaps shielding him too much from the harsh realities of the world, allowing him to grow soft, complacent, and weak.
"Tell security to let him through," I said quietly. "Alone."
