Chapter 10 - Downfall of the Whitmores
Ethan didn't fight. When the deputies approached him, he stood up slowly, looking like an old man who had lost his sight.
His bespoke tuxedo was soaked with water and wrinkled beyond recognition. His eyes were red, swollen, and hollow. He walked toward me, stopping two paces away, the two deputies hovering just behind his shoulders.
“Claire,” he said, his voice barely a rasp. “Just… tell me one thing.”
I met his gaze. “What, Ethan?”
“Did you ever love me? Or was all of this… was it all just an investment? A trap?”
A faint, bitter laugh escaped my lips.
“I loved you so much, Ethan, that when your father’s business was dying, I spent forty million dollars of my father’s money to save you from humiliation. I loved you so much that I endured three rounds of hormone injections that made my body ache for months, just hoping to give you a child.”
Tears ran down Ethan’s cheeks.
“And while I was recovering from my second surgery,” I continued, my voice steady and cold as steel, “you were in Miami with Vanessa Hale, buying her emerald earrings with my money.”
“I was weak,” Ethan choked out. “My mother… she kept pushing me. She kept telling me you were broken. She said our family was ending!”
“You weren't weak, Ethan. You were a coward,” I said. “A weak man admits his faults. A coward lets his mother throw his wife’s luggage onto the sidewalk while he stands behind her with his hands in his pockets.”
Ethan lowered his head, unable to meet my eyes any longer.
“You let her throw me out this morning,” I said. “And now, I am throwing you out. But unlike you, Ethan, I am doing it legally. I am doing it publicly. And I am leaving you with exactly what you deserve: nothing.”
Sheriff Miller stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Time to go, Mr. Whitmore.”
Ethan didn't say another word. He turned and walked down the long, empty corridor, his wet shoes squeaking softly against the marble.
I walked out onto the stone terrace to watch them leave.
The rain was coming down in heavy, gray sheets now. Margaret was standing on the gravel driveway, in the exact spot where my suitcases had rested twelve hours earlier. She was soaking wet, her velvet gown ruined, clutching two battered cardboard boxes that the deputies had given her for her clothes.
A single yellow cab pulled up the long, curving driveway.
Ethan opened the taxi door, helped his screaming, sobbing mother into the back seat, and then turned to look back at the mansion one last time.
He looked up at the stone terrace, where I stood under the warm glow of the exterior lanterns, flanked by my attorney and the county sheriff.
I didn't wave. I didn't smile.
May you like
Ethan climbed into the cab and slammed the door. The taxi turned around on the gravel and drove down the hill, its taillights disappearing into the dark, rainy night.
***
