Chapter 4 - The Vegas Mirage
Three days later, Ethan finally returned. He didn't arrive in the shiny, leased luxury car he loved to show off. He pulled up in a taxi, his clothes rumpled, his hair disheveled. He stood on the porch, fumbling for his keys, and then looked up at the camera.
I watched him from the iPad in the kitchen. He looked tired. He tried the code. Error. He tried his fingerprint. Access Denied. He knocked.
I walked to the door and looked through the peephole. He looked like a wreck.
"Open the door, Clara!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I know you're in there! This is my house too!"
I opened the door, just a crack, leaving the security chain engaged.
"It’s not your house, Ethan," I said, my voice ice cold. "It’s mine. You abandoned your residence, remember? The marriage is legally contested, and the house is currently under a temporary injunction. You are trespassing."
"You changed the locks? You donated my stuff? What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing is wrong with me," I said, leaning against the door frame. "I’m just organizing my life. You wanted a 'boring' life? You got your wish. You have no job, no money, no wife, and no home. How does it feel, Ethan? Is it thrilling enough for you?"
"I’ll sue you! I’ll take everything!"
"With what money?" I laughed. "I’ve seen the firm’s emails, Ethan. I know about Rebecca. I know about the consulting fees. Mr. Henderson knows, too. You’re not being sued by me—you’re being investigated by the federal authorities for embezzlement. I’d suggest you find a cheap motel, because you’re not welcome here."
He went white. "You... you contacted the firm?"
"I just took an interest in our finances. Like a good wife does."
I slammed the door and locked it. I heard him shouting, his voice echoing in the quiet suburban street, but I didn't care. I walked back to the kitchen and made myself a glass of wine. I watched the security feed as he eventually sank down onto the front steps, his head in his hands.
May you like
He had expected me to scream. He had expected me to beg him to come back. He had expected me to be the "boring" woman who would crumble at the first sign of trouble.
Instead, I had become the architect of his demise.
