Chapter 7 - The Settlement
They returned in four minutes.
David looked like a hollow shell of a man. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were bloodshot, and he couldn't even bring himself to look in Evelyn’s direction. Evelyn sat stiffly beside him, her lips pressed into a thin, white line, her face flushed with a mixture of bitter humiliation and suppressed rage.
Gross sat down, pulled out a fountain pen, and slid the settlement papers across the table toward Richard.
“My client accepts the terms,” Gross said flatly. “The wire transfer for forty-five thousand dollars has already been initiated by David’s bank. The quitclaim deed for the condominium will be executed by noon tomorrow. Mrs. Evelyn Cole will execute the civil restraining order today.”
Richard took the papers, inspected every signature with practiced precision, and then handed the pen to me.
I picked up the pen. My hand didn't shake. I pressed the tip to the crisp white paper and wrote my name firmly on the dotted line: Clara Hale.
Not Cole. I had restored my maiden name on the petition three days ago.
When I finished signing, I laid the pen down on the document. The soft scratch of the metal tip against the parchment sounded like the closing of a heavy iron door.
David looked up at me, his eyes wide with a desperate, pathetic pleading. “Clara... please. Can we just talk for a minute? Without the lawyers? Without everyone else?”
I stood up slowly, smoothing the front of my navy blazer. Sarah stood beside me, grabbing her bag. Richard gathered our folders into his briefcase.
I looked at David. I looked at his messy hair, his rumpled suit, his tear-filled eyes. I waited to feel a sting of regret, a pang of nostalgia, or even a flicker of anger.
There was nothing. Just a vast, quiet emptiness.
“There’s nothing left to say, David,” I said gently. “You made your choice in the bathroom ten days ago. I’m just making mine today.”
Without waiting for his answer, I turned on my heel and walked out of the conference room.
As the heavy glass doors swung shut behind us, I heard Evelyn’s sharp, shrill voice echo down the carpeted hallway: “This is all your fault, David! You should have controlled her!”
David’s muffled, exhausted shout back was the last thing I heard before the elevator doors slid open: “Shut up, Mom! Just shut up!”
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I stepped into the elevator with Sarah and Richard. As the doors closed, cutting off the sound of their fighting, I leaned my head back against the polished steel wall and let out a long, quiet breath.
The air inside the elevator tasted clean.
