Chapter 7 - The Twelve-Year-Old Honda
Ethan sat in the driver’s seat of the 2014 silver Honda Civic, his forehead pressed against the worn steering wheel.
The car smelled of faint lavender and Claire’s peppermint tea. In the glove compartment was the original registration, neatly kept in a plastic sleeve alongside receipts for oil changes dating back eight years. Every receipt was signed in Claire’s neat, cursive handwriting. She had taken care of this car because she didn't care about showing off; she cared about things that worked, things that were reliable, things that didn't pretend to be something they weren't.
Ethan turned the key. The engine turned over with a quiet, dependable hum.
He broke down and wept.
He wept not out of remorse for what he had done to Claire, but out of the agonizing, suffocating realization of his own utter stupidity. He had possessed everything a man could ever dream of: the absolute loyalty of a brilliant, beautiful woman whose family possessed wealth beyond the wildest fantasies of Wall Street hedge funds. She would have shared it all with him. She would have elevated him into the true corridors of global power if he had simply possessed an ounce of genuine character.
Instead, he had stolen fourteen million dollars from her and traded her for a woman who abandoned him before his plane even touched down in America.
His phone rang. It was his criminal defense attorney, a man he had hired with the very last unencumbered twenty-five thousand dollars from his personal savings.
""Ethan,"" the lawyer said, his tone grim. ""We have a problem. The Southern District just handed down a twelve-count indictment. Grand larceny, securities fraud, wire fraud, and perjury regarding your financial disclosures in the New York Supreme Court matrimonial division.""
""Can we settle?"" Ethan croaked. ""Can we plead it out?""
""Settle with what?"" the lawyer scoffed. ""You don't have any money left! Your accounts are frozen. The Ashford trust has placed a worldwide Mareva injunction on every asset connected to your name. They aren't looking for a settlement, Ethan. Daniel Mercer is working directly with the prosecutors. They want twenty years.""
""There has to be a way,"" Ethan cried, tears streaming down his face, soaking into his rumpled collar. ""Claire... Claire wouldn't do this. She loved me! We were married for eight years!""
""Claire Ashford didn't do this to you, Ethan. You did it to yourself. She just stopped protecting you from your own stupidity. The arraignment is tomorrow morning at nine. If you don't show up at the courthouse, a federal warrant will be issued for your arrest.""
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The line went dead.
Ethan looked out the scratched windshield at the gray New York drizzle. He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. The vehicle he had labeled an embarrassment was now the only roof he owned in the entire world.
