Chapter 9 - THE FINAL SETTLEMENT
The meeting for the final settlement took place in a neutral conference room.
Michael arrived with a lawyer who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
Michael looked older.
His suit was wrinkled,
and his eyes were bloodshot.
He didn't look at me.
Sarah Jenkins laid the papers on the table.
"We have the final terms,"
Sarah said.
"Ms. Carter will retain the Manhattan townhouse and the Hampton's property."
"She will also receive sixty percent of the liquid assets in the shared accounts."
"In exchange,
she will not pursue criminal charges for the embezzlement we discovered in the shell company."
Michael’s lawyer whispered in his ear.
Michael nodded slowly,
his hand shaking as he picked up the pen.
"And the shares?"
Michael asked,
his voice a mere whisper.
"Ms. Carter will retain forty percent,"
Sarah said.
"The remaining twenty percent will be sold back to the board."
"You will be left with fifteen percent,
Michael."
"Enough to live on,
but not enough to have a seat at the table."
Michael looked at me then.
For the first time,
I saw the realization in his eyes.
He had lost.
Truly,
completely lost.
He signed the papers.
The scratching of the pen was the only sound in the room.
"We're done,"
Sarah announced,
gathering the documents.
Michael stood up,
straightening his jacket as if to reclaim some dignity.
"I hope you're happy,
Claire,"
he said.
"I'm at peace,
Michael,"
I replied.
"There’s a difference."
He walked out of the room,
his lawyer following behind him.
I stayed in my seat for a moment,
letting the feeling wash over me.
The marriage was legally over.
The war was won.
"You did well,
Claire,"
Sarah said,
placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Most people would have settled for a lot less."
"I knew what it was worth,"
I said.
"And I knew what he was capable of."
I left the building and walked out into the bright afternoon sun.
The air felt different.
The city looked different.
I hailed a taxi and gave the address of the townhouse.
When I arrived,
the "COLD" had been scrubbed from the marble.
The house was white and pristine again.
I walked inside and saw the movers arriving with my new furniture.
A new bed.
New rugs.
New art.
I spent the afternoon directing them,
filling the empty spaces with things that I chose.
By evening,
the house felt like a home again.
My home.
I sat in my new living room,
looking at the photos Ryan had sent me earlier.
Brittany Adams at a bus station,
holding a single suitcase.
Michael Carter sitting alone on a park bench.
I deleted the photos.
I didn't need them anymore.
The fire had burned everything away,
May you like
leaving only the foundation.
And I was ready to build something new.
