Chapter 5 - The Remnants of the Reign
The silence that followed the departure of the police car was profound. Cynthia had been escorted out shortly after her son, screaming threats until the cruiser door slammed shut, leaving her stranded on the driveway as the neighbors watched from their windows.
Cora walked back into the kitchen. The pot of mole sauce was gone, the counters wiped clean. The only thing remaining on the quartz island was the pile of ripped clothes Cynthia had destroyed twenty-four hours ago.
She picked up the ruined ivory silk dress. The tear was clean through the bodice, irreparable. She held it for a moment, remembering the panic she had felt when she first saw Cynthia’s hands on it. Now, looking at the torn fabric, she felt nothing but a deep, profound sense of liberation. The dress had served its purpose. It had been the catalyst that forced the snakes out of the grass.
The phone on the counter buzzed. It was a notification from her bank. The corporate accounts were secure, the emergency injunction denied by a judge who took one look at the criminal espionage evidence and dismissed Douglas’s petition with prejudice.
Arthur walked into the kitchen, adjusting his coat. “The divorce will be finalized within sixty days, Cora. Given the criminal charges, he won't get a single penny of your assets, the house, or the company. In fact, we’ll be seeking full restitution for the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“Will she be charged?” Cora asked, looking at the torn blue blouse.
“Cynthia? As the registered agent of the shell company that received stolen corporate funds? Absolutely. She’s an accessory to grand larceny,” Arthur said with a firm nod. “They’re both going down, Cora. Together.”
“Good,” Cora said softly. “Thank you, Arthur. Go home to your family. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”
After Arthur left, Cora carried the pile of ruined clothes out to the large steel trash bin in the garage. She dropped them in one by one. The ivory silk, the blue blouse, the black skirt with the heel print ground into the fabric. She closed the heavy lid with a satisfying, metallic clang.
May you like
She walked back into her house, locking the door with a gentle tap on her phone. The house was hers. The company was hers. Her life was entirely, undeniably her own again.
She walked into the living room, poured herself a glass of red wine, and sat down at her desk to review the investor pitch for the Atlanta gala. She needed to buy a new dress tomorrow. Something bolder. Something red.
