Chapter 5 - The Papers Served
Within forty-five minutes, the ten-million-dollar mansion was silent except for the frantic sound of Ethan packing suitcases in the master bedroom.
I stood in the center of the kitchen, having poured myself a cup of black coffee. Howard sat at the marble island, working methodically through a stack of legal filings on his tablet.
Margaret had refused to leave the foyer. She sat on the velvet settee, her arms crossed, glaring at the wall with poisonous indignation. Her husband Arthur stood on the front porch, shouting into his cell phone at his personal lawyers, only to receive the same crushing reality check from each one: the Ironclad trust was bulletproof.
Ethan dragged two leather bags down the grand staircase, his tie undone, his hair disheveled.
"Claire, please," he pleaded, dropping the bags at the bottom of the stairs. "Can we just talk in private? Please. For Noah's sake."
"Do not speak Noah's name," I said, setting my coffee cup down with a sharp clink. "You didn't care about Noah when you told me to miss his birthday. You didn't care about Noah when you let your mother tell him I was too busy to come downstairs. You cared about your image. You cared about impressing people who don't give a damn about you."
"I made a mistake!" he yelled, tears of self-pity welling in his eyes. "I panicked! You don't know what it’s like living in my father's shadow, trying to build something real! Everyone thinks the Sterlings have unlimited money, but we were drowning! I had to look successful! I had to maintain the image!"
"And who kept you from drowning, Ethan?" I asked, my voice deadly quiet. "Who paid the debt? Who signed the checks? Who listened to your mother insult her clothes, her family, and her background for seven years without saying a single word, just to give you the dignity of being the man of the house?"
Ethan had no answer. He hung his head, staring at the floor.
"I took the blows because I thought you loved me," I continued. "I thought you were just insecure, and that eventually you would realize that family is what matters, not country club status. But last night proved that you aren't insecure, Ethan. You're hollow. You sold out your wife and your son for a pat on the back from men who left your party the second things got uncomfortable."
Howard slid a set of documents across the island. "Divorce summons and petition for full legal and physical custody. Service is executed."
Ethan looked at the papers as if they were venomous snakes. "Custody? You can't take my son!"
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"You abandoned him the second you treated his mother like a shameful secret," I said. "You have supervised visitation every other weekend, contingent upon a court-mandated psychological evaluation. Now take your bags, Ethan. Your two hours are up."
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