Chapter 5
“Literally what it looks like,” I said lazily, not bothering to explain anything.
Effie’s voice crackled with righteous anger. “Have I coddled you too much? First resigning, and now this? What games are you running?”
Before I could respond, she barreled on, “Ask yourself. Haven’t I hooked you up royally? Wardrobe, meals, and a roof over your head. I’ve covered it all. Ditching me over pocket change? That’s absurd! You figure your hot streak gives you leverage? Newsflash: crawl back now, and I’ll overlook your tantrum. Or else…”
“No dice!” I refused flatly, tiredly rubbing my temples.
She strutted like a martyr, amnesia striking her mind. Back when the firm started, I burned midnight oil on relentless caseloads, forging our prestige through courtroom triumphs.
In lean times, funding droughts were quenched by my schmoozing marathons. Booze-fueled deals sealed our survival.
Her initial support was crucial, but our ascent was my sweat equity.
She had conveniently erased those foundations, and even now, she still believed I was throwing a tantrum because of workplace
unfairness.
It was simply ridiculous.
“You know precisely why I’m pulling the plug.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t act clueless. Let’s end this with dignity. Since Kevin joined the firm, you’ve been on constant trips and overnight social events. You know what you were doing. Need me to name the hotel?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, refusing to crack.
That was an underestimation of my legal prowess. I wouldn’t have said those things without ironclad evidence.
“Fine, last night’s highlight: 23rd floor, Sterling Hotel. Ring bells?” I said. “Who were you talking to on the phone? Need me to say his name?”
Dead air swallowed the line.
Weariness seeped into my sigh. Forcing transparency exhausted me.
I concluded, “Sign the agreement. This chapter’s closed.”
She remained silent until I was going to hang up. “Think twice. Divorced and jobless, how will you hack it? Firms crave young guns. You’re no longer young.”
“So, you went for Kevin?” I sneered, ending the call.
Her reasoning was ludicrous. Talking to her was a waste of time.
Perched nearby, Clifford bristled with solidarity. “What’s her malfunction? She wasn’t like this when you married. How did she change so much? Unbelievable.”
After soothing his ire, I headed to the guest room for a shower and much-needed sleep.
In the wee hours, Effie’s text illuminated my screen.
[See you tomorrow at the courthouse.]
1/2
Florence is a passionate reader who finds joy in long drives on rainy days. She’s also a fan of Italian makeup tutorials, blending beauty and elegance into her everyday life.
