Chapter 4 - The Public Collapse
By the spring, James was a ghost of his former self.
He had ignored the formal legal notices my attorney sent regarding the outstanding debt. He tried to hire another lawyer to fight the lien, but no reputable firm would take a case that was explicitly barred by a divorce decree his own counsel had drafted. He was legally, undeniably liable for the renovations that kept the roof over his head from collapsing.
I was standing in the lobby of my office building, chatting with my lead architect, when James suddenly appeared.
He looked terrible. His hair was unkempt, his eyes were sunken with dark, bruised bags, and his suit was wrinkled and stained. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in weeks. The security guards at the front desk immediately tensed, moving to intercept him, but I raised a hand, allowing him to approach. I wanted to hear this.
“Lauren,” James rasped, his voice cracking with a desperation that bordered on madness. “Lauren, please.”
“You look exhausted, James,” I noted, entirely unaffected by his pathetic display. “Is the house keeping you awake?”
“You have to drop the lien,” he begged, completely ignoring my architect, who was watching the scene with wide eyes. “Please. Rachel left me. The bank is threatening to call in my other loans. The property taxes are due next month, and I can't pay them. You took everything. I have nothing left.”
“I didn't take anything that wasn't mine,” I reminded him, my voice dropping to a cold, razor-sharp whisper. “You wanted to keep the house because it made you feel powerful. You wanted to sit on my velvet sofa with another woman and laugh about my departure. I simply removed my funding from your fantasy.”
“I’ll sell it,” he cried, tears welling in his red, bloodshot eyes. “I’ll sell the house and give you the money. Just give me time to find a buyer.”
“You can't sell a house with a quarter-million-dollar lien on it without satisfying the debt at closing, James,” I said smoothly. “And considering the current market, the house needs to be staged to sell. Unfortunately for you, it’s completely empty, echoing, and visually depressing. No buyer is going to pay top dollar for a hollow wooden box.”
He fell to his knees in the middle of the lobby. The arrogant man who had smugly tapped the divorce papers, convinced he had outsmarted me, was now weeping on the marble floor of my corporate building.
“What do you want from me?!” he sobbed, burying his face in his hands.
May you like
“I want exactly what I am legally owed,” I said, looking down at him without a single ounce of mercy. “Not a penny less. Security, please escort Mr. Turner off the premises. If he returns, have him arrested for trespassing.”
The guards grabbed him by the arms, lifting his limp, defeated body off the floor, and dragged him out into the bustling city street. I watched the heavy glass doors close behind him, sealing him entirely out of my world forever.
