Chapter 7 - THE FINANCIAL EXORCISM
The weeks following Nathan’s arrest moved with the relentless, satisfying momentum of a falling line of dominoes.
When news broke of a high-profile corporate executive attempting to murder his pharmacist wife using a rare transdermal plant toxin, the Chicago business community was rocked to its core. Apex Logistics immediately terminated Nathan’s employment, citing gross ethical violations, and froze his stock options.
Sitting in the glass-walled office of my estate attorney, Marcus Vance, I reviewed the legal battlefield.
"The criminal case against Nathan is airtight," Marcus explained, sliding a stack of legal documents across his desk. "Between Dr. Sterling’s state's evidence testimony, the Northwestern toxicology reports, and the video recording from your bedroom, the State's Attorney is offering him a plea deal: thirty-five years in a maximum-security facility without parole, or face a full trial where they will seek life imprisonment."
"Has he accepted the plea?" I asked, sipping my tea.
"His defense attorney is begging him to take it," Marcus smiled grimly. "Nathan is realizing that if he goes to trial, a Cook County jury will deliberate for roughly twelve minutes before convicting him."
"And Dr. Sterling?"
"Victoria Sterling surrendered her medical license yesterday morning," Marcus noted. "In exchange for her full cooperation, her charges were reduced to Accessory to Attempted Murder and Conspiracy. She’s looking at seven to ten years in a federal corrections facility."
"Good," I said, feeling no pity for the woman who had helped formulate my execution. "Now let's discuss the civil side."
Marcus pulled up a detailed financial spread sheet on his computer monitor.
"Under Illinois law," Marcus explained, "a person who attempts to feloniously take the life of an individual forfeits all rights to marital property, joint accounts, and inheritance under the 'Slayer Statute' precedent. We have filed for an immediate, expedited divorce on the grounds of felony marital violence."
"What does that mean for our joint assets?"
"It means everything is yours, Grace," Marcus revealed with a grin. "The Lincoln Park condo, his corporate retirement accounts, his personal savings, and his liquidated stock portfolios. Furthermore, we filed a civil tort lawsuit for intentional infliction of emotional distress and battery, securing a lien against his remaining private assets."
I sat back in my chair, looking at the numbers on the screen.
Nathan had tried to murder me to steal $6 million. Instead, his crimes had completely stripped him of his career, his freedom, his reputation, and every single dollar he had earned over twenty years of corporate life.
He was going to enter a 6x8 foot prison cell completely penniless, while every asset he possessed was transferred into my name.
"I don't want the condo, Marcus," I said quietly, looking out the window toward the Chicago skyline. "Sell it. Sell the furniture, sell the art, sell everything we bought together. Put every single dollar from the sale into the Arthur Bennett Memorial Foundation for Pharmacy Ethics."
Marcus looked at me, his eyes filled with immense respect. "Consider it done, Grace."
That afternoon, I walked down Clark Street toward Bennett & Sons Pharmacy.
The winter sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the clean glass windows of the store my father had founded forty years ago. For six years, I had allowed Nathan to convince me that I needed his corporate brilliance to keep the business alive. I had let him make me feel small, timid, and dependent.
I pushed open the door. The familiar, comforting scent of dried herbs, essential oils, and clean paper filled my lungs.
My head clerk, Renee—the woman who had practically pushed me out the door on the day I fell ill—looked up from behind the counter. Her eyes widened, and a massive, warm smile broke across her face.
"Grace!" Renee cried out, stepping around the counter to give me a fierce, protective hug. "Oh, Grace... we’ve been reading the papers... we’ve been praying for you..."
"I'm fine, Renee," I said, hugging her back tightly. "In fact, I’ve never been better."
"What are we going to do now?" she asked softly, looking around the bustling shop floor.
May you like
I looked up at the framed photograph of my father hanging proudly above the main prescription counter. Arthur Bennett was smiling down at me, his warm, wise eyes seeming to nod in silent approval.
"Now," I said, pulling off my coat and tying a clean white pharmacy apron around my waist, "we get back to work."
