Chapter 7 - CRUMBLING ALLIANCES
Deprived of his salary, his corporate credit cards, and his executive power, Preston’s life collapsed with terrifying speed.
He moved into a dingy, overpriced executive rental apartment on the outskirts of the city. The media picked up the story, plastering his mugshot and Sloan Whitmore’s across front pages nationwide: THE MARBLE STAIRCASE ATTEMPTED MURDER: HUSBAND AND MISTRESS FACING DECADES.
Sloan, meanwhile, was unraveling.
Her wealthy parents, terrified of the public relations nightmare destroying their own high-society standing, cut off her allowance and hired an independent defense attorney who gave Sloan a brutal reality check.
Sitting in a glass consultation room at the county detention center before her preliminary trial date, Sloan confronted Preston across a steel table.
"You told me she was stupid!" Sloan screamed, her manicured nails biting into her palms. "You told me she would take a quiet divorce settlement and sign over the trust! Now I’m facing ten to fifteen years in state prison for attempted murder!"
"Keep your voice down, Sloan!" Preston hissed, his eyes bloodshot, wearing a wrinkled jacket. "My lawyers are working on a deal. We stick to the story—it was an accident, Meredith fell, and the video audio was digitally altered."
"The state crime lab verified the video audio yesterday, you idiot!" Sloan yelled, tears of panic spilling over her makeup. "It’s authentic! The DA offered me a plea bargain this morning!"
Preston went rigid. "What did you say?"
"If I plead guilty to conspiracy and testify against you—if I prove that you planned the whole thing to get her inheritance—they’ll reduce my charge to assault and give me three years with parole!"
"You can't do that!" Preston shouted, leaning across the table. "We’re in this together!"
"I’m twenty-six years old, Preston!" Sloan spat, looking at him with pure disgust. "I am not going to spend the best decade of my life in a cell for a broke, disgraced fraud who couldn't even run his wife's company properly! You used me!"
"I bought you houses! I bought you diamonds!"
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"With HER money!" Sloan yelled, standing up and pushing her chair back with a harsh scrape. "You’re nothing without her, Preston. You were just a ghost wearing her father's suit."
She buzzed the guard to open the door, leaving Preston sitting alone in the cold room, realizing that his mistress had just handed the prosecutor the final nail for his coffin.
