Chapter 5 - The Celebration Dinner
Ethan could barely contain his euphoria. The moment my pen finished the final signature, he snatched the documents off the table like a starved dog grabbing a scrap of meat, pretending to examine them for clerical errors before stuffing them into his briefcase.
"You need to rest now, Laura," Ethan said, his voice brimming with manic energy. "Take a warm bath, take your nightly vitamins, and go to sleep. I have an urgent meeting with my commercial brokers downtown to finalize the tax filing."
"Don't stay out too late, darling," I murmured, watching him rush out the door into the pouring rain without even waiting for my response.
The moment his car tires screeched out of the gates, I stood up from the sofa. The fatigue vanished from my posture, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness.
Marcus Sterling stepped out from the downstairs guest suite, accompanied by two forensic accountants and Richard.
"It's done," Marcus smiled, holding up a digital tablet that was receiving real-time GPS tracking from Ethan’s vehicle. "He is heading straight to Le Cirque downtown. Chloe Vance reserved the private mezzanine suite an hour ago."
"Did the financial transfers execute?" I asked.
"Ten minutes ago, the moment you signed the authorization, our Delaware team registered the altered annexes," one of the accountants confirmed with a grin. "Ethan's personal credit lines have been frozen. His luxury vehicle leases have been transferred to collection status. And every penny in his offshore Cayman account has been swept into an escrow vault pending federal investigation."
I walked over to the mirror in the foyer, wiping away the pale foundation with a warm cloth, revealing my healthy, resolute face beneath. "Grace, bring out the midnight-blue couture gown from my closet. The one Ethan said was too flashy for a respectable wife."
Thirty minutes later, I was dressed in a floor-length silk gown with a diamond choker around my neck, my hair styled in elegant, sweeping waves. Accompanied by Marcus, Richard, and a team of four uniformed officers from the Financial Crimes Unit, we arrived at Le Cirque.
The restaurant was packed with Boston's elite, soft jazz music floating through the chandelier-lit dining room. Up on the private mezzanine, Ethan and Chloe were already three courses deep into a celebratory feast, a bottle of Cristal champagne chilling in an ice bucket beside their table.
Chloe was laughing loudly, holding up her left hand to admire a six-carat diamond ring Ethan had evidently bought her with what he believed was my liquidated corporate equity.
"To our new empire, baby," Chloe toasted, clinking her crystal flute against his. "And to poor, sick Laura, who worked so hard to give it all to us."
"To Laura," Ethan sneered, raising his glass with a mocking chuckle. "May her retirement be peaceful and very, very short."
May you like
"I'm afraid your toast is a little premature, Ethan," a clear, ringing voice echoed through the dining room.
Ethan froze, the champagne flute slipping from his fingers and shattering across the white linen tablecloth, spraying cold alcohol across Chloe’s silk dress.
