That evening, I returned to the apartment early. I didn’t want to rest; I needed to orchestrate the final closure of my physical space. The apartment was suffocatingly quiet. I turned on the kitchen pendants and methodically prepared a filet of grilled salmon and roasted asparagus. I needed the mundane rhythm of chopping and searing to anchor me against the impending storm.
As the salmon hissed in the cast-iron skillet, the deadbolt clicked.
Jason stepped into the entryway. He looked as though he had aged a decade in eight hours. His tie was missing, his collar unbuttoned, his hair disheveled. His eyes scanned the room, landing heavily on the cream-colored suitcase sitting like a tombstone by the front door.
“You actually did it,” he breathed, leaning against the wall for support.
I turned off the burner and wiped my hands on a towel. “I did.”
He walked into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa he had helped pick out. “The company suspended me pending a federal investigation. HR escorted me out of the building. You didn’t have to nuke my life, Catherine.”
“I didn’t nuke anything. I simply handed them the blueprints of the bomb you built.”
Jason rubbed his face, letting out a ragged sigh. The arrogance of the coffee shop was completely eradicated. “Catherine… please. We were married for three years. I know I destroyed us. But I am begging you. Go to the executives. Tell them it was a misunderstanding. Tell them I accidentally backed up the wrong files to a personal drive. If this hits my background check, the rival firm will rescind their offer. I will be blacklisted in the industry.”
I stared at him, genuinely marveling at the boundless depths of his narcissism. “You are asking me to commit perjury, risk my own career, and cover up corporate espionage so you can ride off into the sunset with the woman you replaced me with?”
“I just need an out!” he pleaded, standing up and taking a step toward me.
“You ran out of exits,” I said, retreating a step to maintain the gap between us.
I walked to the dining table and picked up a manila envelope Daniel had couriered over. I slid it across the wood. “This is the revised divorce settlement. Read it.”
Jason picked it up with trembling hands. His eyes darted across the pages. The terms were absolute. Zero claim to the apartment. Repayment of the twenty-thousand-dollar car deposit. Restitution of the forty-eight thousand dollars siphoned from the joint account, with interest.
“You are bankrupting me,” he choked out.
