Chapter 7 - The Ruin of Adrian Vance
Two weeks later, the divorce proceedings were finalized in a closed-door deposition.
Adrian sat across from me in a small, windowless room at the courthouse. He looked like a shadow of his former self. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollowed out by sleepless nights. He had lost his company, his penthouse, his cars, and his social standing. The media, which had once praised him as a tech visionary, now labeled him a corporate fraud and a laughingstock.
His lawyer, a tired-looking public defender, sighed as he reviewed the settlement papers.
"You're taking the cabin in Montana too?" Adrian asked, his voice cracking. "That was my father’s."
"Your father sold it to my father thirty years ago to pay off his gambling debts," I reminded him coldly. "I bought it back. It is mine. Just like everything else in this room."
Adrian looked at me, a desperate, pathetic tears welling in his eyes. "Claire... please. Don't do this. I made a mistake. I was tempted by the fame, by Celeste... she seduced me! She wanted the company!"
"No, Adrian," I said, leaning forward. "You wanted to be her peer. You wanted to look at her and see yourself. But you forgot that you were just a mirror reflecting my light. Without me, you are just a piece of glass in the dark."
He shook his head, trembling. "Where am I supposed to go? I have no money. The SEC fined me three million dollars. I'm facing trial next month. I could go to prison!"
"Then I suggest you get a good public defender," I said, sliding the pen across the table. "Sign the papers, Adrian. Let's finish this."
With a shaking hand, Adrian picked up the pen. He signed his name on the dotted line, officially ending our six-year marriage. He had entered my life with a suitcase and a charming smile. He was leaving with nothing but the clothes on his back and a pending court date.
As I took the signed papers, I felt a massive, invisible weight lift off my shoulders.
I didn't feel angry anymore. I didn't feel sad. I just felt clean.
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"Goodbye, Adrian," I said, standing up and walking toward the door.
He didn't answer. He just stared at the table, his face buried in his hands, weeping softly as the door clicked shut behind me.
