Chapter 9 - The Final Signatures
Three months later, the Mecklenburg County Family Courthouse was quiet.
I sat at the mahogany plaintiff’s table beside Arthur Vance. Across the aisle sat Evan, wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, his wrists cuffed to a chain around his waist. He had lost thirty pounds. His hair was shaved, his posture defeated, and the smug arrogance that had once defined him had vanished completely.
Judge Henderson adjusted his reading glasses, reviewing the thick stack of settlement documents.
“Mr. Whitmore,” the judge said, his voice ringing through the wood-paneled room. “You have reviewed this divorce decree and asset division agreement with your court-appointed counsel?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Evan muttered, staring at the floor.
“You understand that you are relinquishing all claims to the Myers Park estate, all proprietary rights to Vance-Cole Heritage Enterprises, and all intellectual property regarding the Riverfront redevelopment project?”
“I understand.”
“And you understand that in exchange, the plaintiff has agreed not to pursue personal civil damages for emotional battery?”
“Yes.”
Judge Henderson brought his heavy wooden gavel down onto the sound block with a sharp, echoing CRACK.
“The marriage between Claire Vance and Evan Whitmore is officially dissolved. May God grant you both the wisdom to move forward peacefully.”
The bailiff stepped forward, touching Evan’s shoulder to lead him toward the holding cells.
As Evan turned, he paused for a brief second, his hollow, defeated eyes meeting mine. “Claire...” he croaked, his voice cracking with dry despair. “Did you ever love me? Even for a day?”
I looked at him. I remembered the twenty-six-year-old girl who had believed his promises. I remembered the anniversary cuff link rolling across the hotel floor. I remembered the rain on the porch.
“I loved the man I thought you were, Evan,” I answered gently, without bitterness. “It’s not my fault he never existed.”
Evan closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and let the guards escort him through the heavy iron security door. The bolt slid shut behind him, closing that chapter of my life forever.
When I stepped through the grand bronze doors of the courthouse onto the sunny steps outside, the warm spring breeze caught my hair. The azaleas were in full bloom, painting Charlotte in brilliant shades of pink and white.
At the bottom of the wide marble steps, leaning against the door of a vintage 1968 Mercedes convertible, stood Adrian Cole.
He wore a crisp white linen shirt, sunglasses, and a relaxed, radiant smile that made my heart leap into my throat. He tossed a pair of keys lightly in his hand.
“Freedom looks extraordinary on you, Claire Vance,” he said as I walked down the steps toward him.
“It feels even better than it looks,” I laughed, feeling the warmth of the sun soak into my skin.
May you like
Adrian opened the passenger door, bowing with theatrical chivalry. “Where to, Madam CEO?”
“Take me to the Riverfront,” I said, sliding into the leather seat. “We have ground to break.”
