Chapter 4 - The Art of the Ruin
We met for the divorce mediation in a cold, glass-walled conference room at my brother’s law firm.
Preston looked like a ghost of the man I had married. His suit hung loosely on his frame, his hair was unkempt, and the arrogant spark in his eyes had been completely extinguished. He sat across from me, flanked by a public defender, as he could no longer afford the exorbitant retainers of the city's top divorce attorneys.
Mason slid a single piece of paper across the table.
"This is an absolute waiver of all marital assets," Mason stated coldly. "You will surrender any claim to the Central Park penthouse, the Hamptons estate, and the joint investment portfolios. In exchange, Eleanor will not file a civil suit against you for the embezzlement of marital funds used to finance your affair."
Preston stared at the paper. "I have nothing," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Eleanor, I am facing bankruptcy. The SEC is threatening indictment. If you take the assets, I’ll be on the street."
I leaned forward, folding my hands on the glass table. "You put yourself on the street, Preston. You forged documents. You risked my family's legacy to feed your own ego. You brought your mistress to a gala funded by my money and allowed her to humiliate me in front of six hundred people."
"I was stupid," he choked out, a tear finally tracking down his hollow cheek. "I lost myself. I lost the best thing that ever happened to me. Please. Give me a second chance."
"I gave you one hundred and twelve days of chances," I said, my voice steady and devoid of any pity. "Every time you lied about where you were. Every time you kissed my forehead and went to her. You made your choice every single day for nearly four months."
I pulled a pen from my purse and set it on top of the waiver.
May you like
"Sign it, Preston. Or my family will ensure the SEC gets the unredacted files from your private servers."
He looked at me, searching for the soft, compliant wife he had taken for granted for over a decade. He found only a wall of steel. With a shaking, defeated hand, Preston picked up the pen and signed his name, officially erasing himself from my life and walking out into a world that no longer cared if he existed.
