Chapter 3 - The Coldest Night of the Year
The hospital staff room was quiet, lit only by the flickering red bulbs of a miniature plastic Christmas tree sitting atop the refrigerator. I stood in front of the small mirror above the sink, washing my hands with scalding water until my skin turned red. I wanted to scrub away the scent of his cologne, the memory of his deceit, and the bitter residue of five wasted years.
Outside the frosted glass, I could hear the muffled sound of Vincent’s pacing footsteps. He hadn't left. He was lingering like a vulture, torn between the bed of his mistress and the door of the wife who held his fate in her hands.
My phone vibrated against the counter. It was a text message from Rebecca Collins, Chicago's most ruthless family law attorney and my closest friend since our undergraduate days at Northwestern.
I just parked in the hospital garage, the message read. Are you sure you want to do this tonight, Claire? It's Christmas Eve. The courts don't open until Monday.
I picked up the phone and typed back with steady fingers: Do it tonight, Rebecca. Bring everything. He’s here, standing outside my door. His mistress is in Bay Two.
Three minutes later, the door to the lounge clicked open. Vincent slipped inside, quickly pulling the door shut behind him to lock out the nurses who were whispering in the hallway. His eyes were bloodshot, his tie loosened, his expensive facade completely coming apart at the seams.
""Claire, we have to talk like adults,"" he started, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. ""You can’t throw away five years of marriage over a mistake. People make mistakes! Look at what we’ve built! The brownstone in Lincoln Park, the foundation, our reputation—""
""A mistake is forgetting to pick up dry cleaning, Vincent,"" I interrupted, leaning back against the sink and folding my arms across my chest. ""A mistake is not leasing an apartment on Michigan Avenue under an LLC named 'V&V Holdings.' A mistake is not spending three Christmases telling your wife you’re closing acquisitions in Zurich while you take another woman skiing in Aspen.""
His face drained of color again. His hands dropped to his sides. ""You... you knew?""
""I've known for six weeks,"" I replied softly. ""Do you think I'm stupid, Vincent? Do you think because I work eighty hours a week saving lives, I don't notice that our joint tax filings showed massive business deductions for luxury jewelry? Did you think I wouldn't notice private courier receipts delivered to our home mailbox by accident? I hired a private investigator the moment you started showering before getting into bed with me.""
Vincent took a step forward, his hands raised in surrender. ""Then why didn't you say anything? Why did you pretend everything was fine this morning? Why let me walk out that door?""
""Because I wanted to see how far your cowardice would go,"" I answered truthfully. ""And because I was waiting for Rebecca to finish untangling your shell corporations. You’ve been siphoning money from our joint assets into Vanessa's personal trust fund, Vincent. That’s not just adultery. That’s grand larceny against our marital estate.""
Before he could respond, a sharp knock rattled the lounge door. It pushed open, revealing Rebecca Collins. She looked impeccably sharp in a camel-hair trench coat, her dark hair pulled into a sleek chignon, carrying a thick, black leather folder under her arm.
""Good evening, Mr. Moretti,"" Rebecca said, her voice dripping with ice as she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. ""I suggest you take a seat, though I doubt you'll find anything comfortable about the next ten minutes.""
""Rebecca?"" Vincent sneered, trying to summon his usual corporate arrogance. ""This is a private family matter. Get the hell out of here before I have hospital security remove you.""
""Hospital security answers to the Chief of Medicine, who happens to be Claire’s mentor,"" Rebecca countered smoothly, unzipping the folder and pulling out a thick sheaf of legal documents. ""Furthermore, these papers legally establish that you no longer have any standing in Claire's private affairs. Mr. Moretti, you are being served with a petition for immediate dissolution of marriage based on irreconcilable differences, gross marital misconduct, and fraudulent dissipation of community property.""
She dropped the heavy packet onto the small laminate table. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
Vincent stared down at the documents, his chest heaving. ""This is insane. Claire, you can’t do this! We haven't even tried counseling! We can fix this!""
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""Counseling won't fix the fact that you have another woman pregnant thirty feet away,"" I said, looking him dead in the eyes. ""Sign the temporary separation agreement, Vincent. It freezes all joint accounts until forensic accountants finish reviewing your hedge fund's books.""
Vincent looked from the papers to me, his expression twisting from desperation into ugly, cornered rage. ""You think you’re so smart, don't you, Claire? You think you hold all the cards because you caught me? You don't know half of what’s happening here! You don't know who Vanessa really is!""
