She studied him for a moment that felt longer than it was. “So I’m bad for your stock price now.”
“It’s business,” Ethan said. “Don’t take it personally.”
Vanessa leaned forward and finally put her phone face down on the table. “Honestly, Emily, this is probably for the best. Some people are meant for bigger things, and some people are happier living… smaller.”
The room seemed to grow colder.
Emily turned her head just enough to look at Vanessa directly. Vanessa had perfect hair, a flawless manicure, and the bored confidence of a woman who had never once mistaken access for character because she had never needed to.
“You seem very comfortable speaking about size,” Emily said softly.
Vanessa blinked. Ethan’s attorney coughed into his fist, trying and failing to disguise it.
Ethan’s expression hardened. “Enough.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a black American Express card. He tossed it onto the polished table with a flick of his wrist, and it spun once before stopping near Emily’s elbow.
“Take it,” he said. “That’s enough to rent a tiny place somewhere cheap for a month. Think of it as payment for two wasted years.”
Vanessa laughed outright this time. “God, Ethan.”
But there was admiration in her voice.
Emily looked down at the card. It was black, glossy, and smug-looking somehow, as if even the plastic had absorbed his arrogance.
Her mind flashed, without permission, to a night eighteen months earlier when Ethan had called her from the office close to midnight because the payroll system had failed and he thought he would have to let half his staff go by morning. She had driven downtown in the rain, sat beside him until dawn, manually coordinated the transfers, and covered the shortfall with money she told him came from “old savings.”
He had cried that night.
Not theatrically. Not manipulatively. He had cried with his forehead against her shoulder, whispering, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Now he looked at her as if she had always been disposable.
“The prenup is very clear,” Ethan said. “You get nothing. But I’m not cruel.”
The older lawyer beside him cleared his throat carefully. “There are still a few matters regarding the vehicle and temporary residence support that may need clarification.”
“Let her keep the old car,” Ethan said sharply. “I’m being nice.”
Emily almost smiled at that.
The car he called “old” was one she had barely driven, because for most of their marriage she had either worked from home for him or taken cabs across the city handling errands, meetings, and problems he never noticed had been solved. The title, she knew very well, was not even fully in his name yet.
Still, she said nothing.
“Go ahead,” Ethan continued. “Sign. I’ve got lunch reservations.”
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