Chapter 4 - The Counter-Strategy
The fluorescent lights of the library study carrel hummed softly as Marcus Vance outlined a proposal that made my blood run cold and my pulse race with sudden, fierce possibility.
“David thinks he’s playing chess,” Marcus said over the speakerphone, his voice dropping into a professional cadence that brook no argument. “He’s not even playing checkers. He’s throwing plastic pieces at a wall and hoping they stick. Your mother is the brains of the operation, but she’s arrogant. She thinks her social standing in this city shields her from conspiracy charges. She’s wrong.”
“What do you want, Marcus?” I asked, resting my hand on top of the ultrasound folder. “You don’t strike me as a philanthropist who spends his Tuesday afternoons helping wronged pregnant women out of the goodness of his heart.”
A dry chuckle came through the line. “You’re sharp, Clara. I like that. No, I’m not a philanthropist. David has been embezzling minor discretionary funds from the firm’s client entertainment accounts to finance his lifestyle upgrades—specifically the sports car he bought last month and the down payment on that coastal condo he and your sister were planning to move into after you were disposed of.”
My breath hitched. “He bought a condo?”
“With your joint savings account as collateral,” Marcus corrected. “He forged your electronic signature on the bank release forms. I have the digital audit trail right here on my terminal. If you file for divorce on the grounds of financial fraud, adultery, and domestic abuse—backed up by the recording of him striking you—we can freeze every single asset he and your family control before the sun sets.”
I thought about the nursery—the half-built crib, the pale diapers, the life I had spent three years trying to build with a man who viewed me as dead weight.
“What do I need to do?” I asked.
“First, you need to leave the library,” Marcus said. “My driver is parked outside in a black sedan. He will take you to a secure private office downtown where my personal divorce attorney, Evelyn Vance—no relation, strictly business—is waiting with the paperwork. Second, you need to keep that second phone charged. Do not answer David’s calls, but let him panic. Let him dig his grave deeper.”
“And my mother?”
“Leave her to me,” Marcus said, a sharp edge entering his voice. “Your mother’s social club relies entirely on my family’s patronage. One word from me, and she’ll find herself uninvited from every board, committee, and charity gala in the state before the weekend.”
I ended the call, slipped the second phone into my jacket pocket, and gathered my belongings.
May you like
When I pushed open the heavy glass doors of the library, the afternoon heat hit me like a physical wave. A sleek black sedan was idling by the curb, its tinted windows rolled down an inch. The driver, a tall man in a dark suit, caught my eye and tipped his chin toward the back door.
As I slid into the leather-lined interior, I looked back once toward the direction of my house. David, Maya, and Mom were probably still standing in that sterile nursery, screaming at each other, entirely unaware that the storm they had engineered was about to sweep them completely away.
