Chapter 8 - The Price of Pride
While Paige and Miriam wept in Kenneth Vance's office, my attorney Sarah and I drove directly to the house in Dublin I had shared with David for fourteen years.
The locks hadn't been changed yet. When I pushed the front door open, the house smelled of stale coffee and stale cigars.
David was sitting at the kitchen island, wearing the same dress pants from the wedding, his white tuxedo shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, wrinkled and stained with sweat. Empty beer bottles littered the quartz countertop.
He looked up as I walked in with two large suitcases and a banker's box.
""Elaine,"" he croaked, his voice hoarse. ""Thank God you're home. We need to talk to a public relations firm. The gossip from the reception is already spreading through the country club. My mother’s phone has been ringing off the hook.""
I set the banker's box on the island, completely ignoring his panic. ""I’m not here to talk about public relations, David. I’m here to pack my clothes, my personal documents, and my mother’s jewelry.""
David stood up, knocking a beer bottle onto the floor. It shattered across the hardwood, foaming alcohol spreading across the floor. ""You're packing? Are you insane? We've been married fourteen years! You don't just walk out over a family misunderstanding!""
""A family misunderstanding?"" I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. ""You committed bank fraud, David. You forged your dead wife’s mother’s signature. You lied to your daughter for twenty years, telling her that her grandmother abandoned her while you secretly tried to rob her trust fund.""
David grabbed my arm. ""I was trying to keep our home, Elaine! If my business goes down, this house goes with it! Everything I built—""
""You didn't build this!"" I yelled, pulling my arm free with enough force to send him stumbling back against the refrigerator. ""Rebecca built your firm! Rebecca won the commercial architectural contracts that made your name in this town! After she died, your firm survived on her legacy and the cash injections Beatrice pulled from her trust! And for the last fourteen years, I paid half the mortgage, all the groceries, all the utilities, and bought Paige's clothes while you pretended to be a high-flying businessman!""
David stared at me, his eyes wild and desperate. ""Elaine, please. You have money in your personal accounts. If you could just loan me fifty thousand dollars... just enough to hire a defense attorney and stave off the mezzanine lender until we settle—""
I looked at him in total disbelief. ""You are still asking me for money? Right now?""
""We're a team, Elaine!"" he shouted, tears of self-pity welling in his bloodshot eyes. ""Through sickness and health, richer or poorer! You promised that at the altar!""
""I promised that to an honest man, David,"" I said quietly, unzipping my suitcase. ""Not a parasitic fraud who would rob his own flesh and blood and seat his wife next to the kitchen garbage disposal to please a spoiled daughter.""
Before David could respond, the front doorbell rang loudly.
Three heavy thumps echoed against the wood.
David flinched. He crept toward the entryway and peered through the sidelight window. When he looked back at me, his face was the color of sour milk.
Two sheriff's deputies were standing on our porch, holding a thick sheaf of legal notices.
""Mr. David Foster?"" a deputy’s voice called through the door. ""Franklin County Sheriff's Office. We have a civil summons and an order of attachment regarding Foster Architectural Services.""
David looked at me, pleading with his eyes for help, for an excuse, for a lie.
May you like
I picked up my first suitcase, walked past him to the front door, and opened it wide.
""He’s right here, officers,"" I said calmly. ""And if you need to speak with his mother, she lives on Clifton Avenue. Now, if you'll excuse me, I’m moving out.""
