Chapter 7 - The Wall Street Showdown
Ethan stood frozen in the center of the marble lobby, his breath catching in his throat like a jagged piece of glass.
Brokers, junior analysts, and executive secretaries were bustling through the lobby, holding coffee cups and tablet devices. Every single one of them stopped, their eyes darting between Ethan, the process servers, and me.
"Maya..." Ethan choked out, taking a slow, desperate step toward my chair. "Maya... please. Talk to me. Why are you doing this here?"
Victoria Kaufman stood up smoothly, stepping between Ethan and my chair like a physical barrier.
"Do not approach my client, Mr. Vance," Victoria said, her voice carrying clearly across the quiet lobby.
"She's my wife!" Ethan hissed, his voice cracking with humiliation as several junior brokers paused near the water cooler to watch. "Maya, please! Look at me! We're a family! We have a son!"
"You didn't care about your family on Friday," I said, my voice entirely calm, entirely devoid of emotion. "When you put twelve dollars in my hand five days after a C-section and told me to take the bus."
A sharp whisper swept through the gathered crowd of traders. Two female associates standing near the reception desk stared at Ethan with unadulterated horror.
"I made a mistake!" Ethan pleaded, dropping to his knees on the polished marble floor in a pathetic attempt to demonstrate remorse. "I was stressed! I wasn't thinking clearly! Mom was pressuring me—"
"Stop blaming your mother, Ethan," I interrupted, leaning forward slightly. "You are thirty-two years old. You forged my signature to steal two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. You drained our joint accounts. You stole my car. You abandoned your newborn son."
At that exact moment, the heavy mahogany doors of the corner executive office swung open.
Richard Sterling—the managing partner of the firm, a tall, imposing man in his sixties with silver hair and a sharp, terrifying gaze—stepped out into the lobby. Behind him walked two senior internal compliance officers.
Richard Sterling didn't look at Ethan on his knees. He looked directly at me.
"Maya, my dear," Mr. Sterling said warmly, walking across the marble floor to gently shake my hand. "How are you feeling? Your father called me over the weekend. I was devastated to hear what you've been through."
"I'm recovering well, Mr. Sterling. Thank you," I replied politely.
Mr. Sterling turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto Ethan, who was scrambling back to his feet, his face red with absolute shame.
"Mr. Vance," Mr. Sterling said, his voice dropping into a deep, thunderous register that silenced the entire lobby. "My office. Right now."
Ethan swallowed hard, his knees trembling as he followed Mr. Sterling, Victoria, the two process servers, and me into the grand corner boardroom.
The heavy double doors clicked shut, sealing out the whispers of the office staff.
Mr. Sterling sat at the head of the conference table. I sat on his right, flanked by Victoria. Ethan was forced to sit at the far end of the long glass table, looking like a criminal standing before a tribunal.
"Ethan," Mr. Sterling began, opening a thick manila folder on the table. "Fifteen minutes ago, my compliance team received a formal notification from the New Jersey State Attorney General's Financial Crimes Unit."
Ethan gasped, leaning forward, his hands clutching the edge of the glass table. "What?! No! Mr. Sterling, listen to me—"
"Silence!" Mr. Sterling barked, slamming his hand onto the table. "You used Sterling & Croft corporate stationery as a credit reference when you applied for an unauthorized commercial loan through a fraudulent Jersey lender. You listed your corporate email and firm title as a secondary guarantor."
"I was going to pay it back!" Ethan wept. "It was an investment!"
"It was bank fraud, forgery, and an egregious breach of corporate ethics!" Mr. Sterling countered coldly. "Your actions have exposed this firm to immense reputational damage. Effective immediately, your employment with Sterling & Croft is terminated for cause."
Ethan squeezed his eyes shut as if he had been struck with a physical blow. "No... please... Richard, my career..."
"You don't have a career anymore, Ethan," Victoria Kaufman chimed in smoothly, sliding a heavy stack of legal documents across the glass table toward him.
"What is this?" Ethan whimpered, staring at the paper stack.
"That is a formal petition for absolute divorce on the grounds of severe emotional cruelty, financial fraud, and spousal abandonment," Victoria explained. "Attached to it is an emergency order granting Maya Vance sole legal and physical custody of Noah Vance, with zero visitation rights permitted pending your mandatory psychiatric evaluation and criminal trial."
"You're taking my son?!" Ethan screamed, looking at me with wild, bloodshot eyes.
"You took his car seat out of my car so your mother could put her purse on the seat, Ethan," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "You proved to me, to the court, and to the world that you are not a father. You are a parasite."
The first process server stepped forward, stamping a red seal on the top document and handing Ethan a pen.
"Sign the receipt of service, Mr. Vance," the server said stoically.
Ethan’s hand shook so violently he could barely hold the pen. Tears of absolute defeat rolled down his cheeks, dropping onto the legal pages as he signed his name on the line.
"And one final item, Mr. Vance," Victoria added, pulling a small silver key from her purse and setting it on the table. "That is the key to a private storage facility in New Jersey where your thirty boxes of clothes are currently being held. The rent is paid through the end of the month. After that, you are on your own."
I stood up from my chair, folding my cream-colored coat around my shoulders.
I looked down at the man I had spent three years trying to please—the man who had left me on a hot sidewalk with twelve dollars while my body bled from major surgery.
He looked so small. So utterly, pathetically insignificant.
May you like
"Goodbye, Ethan," I said softly.
I turned and walked out of the boardroom, my heels clicking firmly against the marble floor, leaving him sitting alone at the end of the long glass table with his termination notice and his divorce papers.
