The Final Clause
As I stepped out onto the driveway, the sound of Chloe’s hysterical sobbing echoed through the vaulted ceilings of the $10 million tomb. Two large moving trucks were already pulling through the gates, manned by a crew I had hired to strip the place bare within the hour.
I climbed into the back of my black SUV. My driver, Marcus, who had been with my father for thirty years, looked at me through the rearview mirror with a knowing glint in his eye.
“Where to, Ms. Sterling?”
I looked at the house one last time. It was a beautiful structure, but it was built on a foundation of lies. And in my world, lies are the worst kind of investment. They never yield a profit; they only accrue interest until the debt becomes unpayable.
“To the office, Marcus,” I said, opening my laptop and checking the opening bell for the markets. “I have a contract to sign. And after that, I think I’ll buy myself something nice. Perhaps a gallery. I’ve always had an eye for things that are actually… authentic.”
The SUV pulled away, leaving the Greenwich mansion—and the wreckage of Alexander’s double life—behind in the dust. I didn’t look back. I had spent eight years being a wife who supported a shadow; I was ready to spend the rest of my life being the CEO of my own destiny.
By the time we hit the highway, a new bank notification popped up on my screen.
“Transaction reversal initiated. $10,000,000 returned to account ending in 8802. Account status: Secured.”
I smiled, deleted the message, and went back to work. The maid—and the master—were no longer my concern. I had liquidated the liability, and for the first time in years, my books were perfectly balanced.
