Chapter 6 - The Restructuring
One month later.
The October morning air in Scottsdale was crisp, clear, and refreshing, carrying the faint scent of rain from the desert mountains.
I sat in a comfortable armchair in the library of my grandmother’s primary estate in Paradise Valley—a historic, ten-acre property with ancient olive trees, adobe archways, and mountain views that Garrick had never been allowed to step foot on during our marriage.
My belly was significantly larger now at thirty-six weeks, rounded and heavy, but my energy had returned completely.
Sitting across from me was Abigail Vance-Cross, along with the newly appointed head of the Vance Charitable Foundation, a brilliant young woman named Elena Reyes.
"The final divorce decree was executed by Judge Davis yesterday afternoon," Abigail said, handing me a leather-bound folder. "Garrick Carter waived all rights to contest the proceedings in exchange for the District Attorney agreeing not to add secondary charges of federal wire fraud regarding his falsified loan applications."
I signed my name at the bottom of the final page in crisp, black ink: Evelyn Vance.
"And his criminal trial?" I asked, handing the pen back to Abigail.
"He entered a guilty plea to Class 3 Felony Aggravated Domestic Battery three days ago," Abigail reported smoothly. "The judge sentenced him to four years at the Florence Correctional Complex, with no possibility of parole for thirty-six months. His surrender order took effect immediately."
I took a slow sip of herbal tea, feeling Clara give a small, gentle turn beneath my ribs.
"What about the liquid assets recovered from his personal accounts before the freeze?" I asked, turning my attention to Elena Reyes.
Elena pulled up a financial summary on her tablet. "Precisely three hundred and eighty thousand dollars was recovered from his secondary accounts. Per your instruction, those funds have been fully transferred to the Phoenix Crisis Center for Pregnant Women to build a new ten-bed residential facility."
"Good," I said, a soft smile touching my lips. "Call it the Clara Vance Memorial Wing."
The library doors opened softly, and Ethan Vance walked into the room, carrying a silver tray with fresh warm pastries and a glass of organic orange juice.
He set the tray down on the side table beside my chair, his sharp blue eyes scanning my face with quiet, protective warmth.
"How are those ribs feeling today, Evie?" Ethan asked softly.
"They don't hurt at all anymore, Ethan," I replied, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "Thank you. For everything."
May you like
Ethan let out a quiet, rare chuckle, patting the back of my hand. "Your grandmother would be proud of you, kiddo. You handled that business with real class."
"She taught me well," I said, looking out the library window at the sunlight filtering through the olive branches. "She always said that power doesn't need to shout. It just needs to own the lock on the door."
