Chapter 5 - The Veneer Shatters
The line went dead with a sharp, final click.
Ethan stood frozen, the receiver humming a monotone drone into his ear. A cold bead of sweat trickled down his temple, slipping over the edge of his stubbled jaw.
*Alexander Vance?*
The name was a legend in global industry. A titan whose shadow covered international shipping lanes, aerospace defense, and sovereign wealth management. Ethan had spent the last three years desperately trying to secure even a thirty-second handshake with someone in Vance’s inner circle at charity galas, only to be turned away at the velvet ropes like an errant schoolboy.
Why would the Vance dynasty care about a mousy, quiet woman who spent her afternoons baking bread, reading classical literature, and folding Ethan’s laundry without a single complaint?
“Ethan?” Margaret called out, trembling as she leaned against the iron bars of her cell. “What did Harold say? Are the limousines coming to get us? My sciatica is flaring up! I need my private physician!”
Ethan turned slowly, his face drained of every drop of color. “The accounts... they’re locked, Mother.”
“Locked?” Brenda gasped, shooting up from the bench, her sweet facade completely shattered. “What do you mean locked? What about the nursery deposit for the luxury suite at St. Jude’s? What about my Cartier allowance? Ethan, you promised me a million-dollar wedding next month!”
“Shut up, Brenda!” Ethan snapped violently, his composure fracturing under the mounting terror. “Both of you, shut your mouths! There’s been a bureaucratic mistake. Claire has someone helping her—probably some wealthy old fool she’s sleeping with on the side. That’s why she wouldn't sleep with me for the past year! She was cheating on me!”
He convinced himself of the lie instantly. It was the only narrative his bloated ego could stomach. Claire couldn't be powerful. She couldn't be wealthy. She was the orphan girl he had ‘saved’ from a modest life five years ago. She was the plain, submissive wife who took his insults with downcast eyes.
Just then, the heavy steel door of the precinct clattered open. A junior public defender walked in, holding a cheap plastic folder, flanked by two officers who unlocked the cell gates.
“Ethan Hayes? Margaret Hayes? Brenda Mills?” the public defender asked in a bored monotone.
“Finally!” Margaret spat, straightening her rumpled dress. “It’s about time someone recognized our status!”
“Don't flatter yourself,” the defender said dryly. “Your bail was posted anonymously thirty minutes ago. But don't celebrate. You are officially evicted from the Mercer Tower penthouse. Your restraining orders are active. If you go within five hundred yards of Claire Mercer or the property, you will be back in these cells until your trial. Now sign these release forms and get out.”
Ethan snatched the pen, his hands shaking with uncontrollable fury. *Anonymously bailed out?*
It was Claire. It had to be Claire. She wanted them out on the streets with nothing to their names.
May you like
“She wants a war?” Ethan growled under his breath, scribbling his signature across the paper. “I’ll give her one. Brenda, call your contacts at the local press. We’re holding an emergency press conference in front of Hayes Technologies headquarters at ten o’clock. We will paint her as an unhinged, abusive monster who kicked a pregnant woman into the freezing cold.”
A sinister smile crept back onto Brenda’s face. “The media loves a victim, Ethan. We’ll ruin her before noon.”
