Chapter 8 - The Ruin of Chloe Sterling
Two weeks after the night of the wedding, the autumn frost had hardened into the gray, bitter chill of a Chicago November.
In a small, windowless conference room in the basement of the Cook County Municipal Court, Chloe Sterling sat on a metal folding chair that squeaked with every tiny shift of her body.
The designer bridal gown of ivory lace was gone. In its place, she wore an ill-fitting gray knit sweater she had purchased at a discount department store, and her peroxide-blonde hair had been pulled back into an untidy, greasy ponytail. Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, and her hands—shorn of the fake emerald and the diamond bracelets—were raw and chapped from the cold.
Across the laminate table sat her mother, Victoria.
Victoria looked as though she had aged twenty years in fourteen days. The tight, flawless porcelain of her surgical face had collapsed into deep, hollow lines of exhaustion and defeat. Her designer wardrobe had been locked behind the yellow police tape of their Lake Forest mansion, which had been padlocked by the county sheriff on Monday morning pursuant to the Harrington receivership order.
"Where is Arthur?" Victoria croaked, her voice dry and hoarse. "Did he post the secondary bond?"
Chloe let out a bitter, hysterical laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping over asphalt.
"Arthur filed for an emergency annulment on Friday, Mother," Chloe sneered, tears of rage welling in her red-rimmed eyes. "His lawyers served me the papers in the holding cell. He claims the marriage was never consummated and that our family defrauded him into the union by concealing our insolvency."
"That bastard!" Victoria hissed, her trembling fingers clawing at the edge of the table. "His family was on the verge of bankruptcy! We were saving them!"
"We didn't save anyone!" Chloe shrieked, slamming her palm onto the table, making the public defender sitting beside them flinch in irritation. "We're homeless, Mother! Do you understand that? The bank seized the townhouse! They seized my convertible! The police took my jewelry as evidence in the fraud investigation!"
The door to the conference room opened with a dull click.
Arthur Harrington Sr. did not enter. Daniel did not enter.
Instead, a young, impeccably dressed woman in a navy wool trench coat stepped into the room, holding a slim leather folder under her arm.
It was Sarah Vance, my first cousin and the vice president of corporate communications for Vance Maritime.
Victoria blinked, straightening up with an instinctive, pathetic attempt at social haughtiness. "You... you’re with the Vance family. Did Clara send you? Is she finally coming to her senses? Does she want to apologize?"
Sarah didn't sit down. She looked at Victoria Sterling with an expression of cold, clinical disgust that made the older woman shrink back into her metal chair.
"Clara does not know I am here, Mrs. Sterling," Sarah said, her voice smooth and devoid of emotion. "And she certainly does not owe you an apology. I am here on behalf of the Vance Family Trust’s philanthropic arm."
Chloe sneered through her tears. "Philanthropy? What, you’re here to give us food stamps?"
Sarah opened the leather folder, pulling out two single-ride commercial bus tickets and a cashier’s check for two thousand dollars made out to Victoria Sterling.
"This," Sarah said, setting the items on the table between them, "is an administrative severance from our charitable emergency fund."
Victoria stared at the check. "Two... two thousand dollars? Our debt is four million!"
"The check is for your immediate living expenses, Mrs. Sterling," Sarah explained, her tone as dry as a judge pronouncing a sentence. "The bus tickets are one-way to Cincinnati, where your sister owns a two-bedroom mobile home. Under the terms of the settlement agreement Daniel executed, if you or your daughter set foot within Cook County, Illinois, or make any attempt to contact Clara or her child, the state prosecutor will immediately execute the outstanding warrants for grand larceny and perjury regarding the incident at the pavilion."
Sarah leaned forward, resting two manicured fingers on the table, looking straight into Chloe’s wide, terrified eyes.
"You tore my cousin's dress, Chloe," Sarah whispered. "You called her a parasite in front of two hundred people. In the city of Chicago, the Vance name means that you do not exist anymore. Your accounts are gone. Your friends have deleted your numbers. Your husband has erased your name from his registry."
Sarah straightened her coat, turned on her heel, and walked toward the door.
May you like
"Take the bus, Mrs. Sterling," Sarah said, pausing at the threshold without looking back. "It’s very cold in Chicago this winter."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving mother and daughter alone in the gray, windowless basement, staring at two pieces of cardboard and a check that wouldn't cover the cost of the dress they had ripped to shreds.
