Chapter 8 - The Settlement Table
The conference room at Miller & Vance was sunlit and spacious, smelling of polished oak and fresh coffee. It was Friday afternoon, exactly one week after Thanksgiving.
Across the long mahogany table sat Dean, flanked by two expensive corporate attorneys who looked like they hadn't slept since Monday. Dean looked ten years older. His suit was rumpled, his tie slightly crooked, and his eyes were sunken and bloodshot. He wouldn't look at me.
At the head of the table sat Henderson, looking grim and resigned.
“We have an agreement,” Henderson said, his voice clipped and formal as he slid a thick stack of vellum-bound documents toward Sarah and me. “Dean Hart formally resigns as CEO of Hart Industries, forfeits all voting shares to the independent board members, and pleads guilty to corporate restructuring fraud. In exchange, the criminal referral on the assault charge is reduced to a misdemeanor probation, provided there is no further contact with our client.”
Sarah skimmed the pages rapidly, her eyes scanning every line of legalese with clinical precision. She looked up at me and gave a single, imperceptible nod.
“And the financial distribution?” Sarah asked.
“One hundred percent of the marital assets, including the Oakridge property, the downtown condo, and all liquid accounts currently frozen under the emergency injunction, are awarded solely to Nora Hart,” Henderson read, his voice tight. “Furthermore, Hart Industries will cover all legal fees associated with the dissolution of the marriage.”
I sat back in my leather chair, folding my hands neatly in my lap. I looked across the table at Dean. He stared down at his hands, his fingers twitching nervously against the polished wood.
“Dean,” I said softly.
He flinched, looking up with a brief, desperate glimmer of hope in his eyes, as if he thought I might show mercy at the eleventh hour.
“Sign the papers,” I said.
May you like
He swallowed hard, picked up the heavy Montblanc pen—a pen I had bought him for our fifth wedding anniversary—and signed his name to the bottom of the page. His hand shook so violently the signature looked like the scrawl of a frightened child.
When he finished, he set the pen down and buried his face in his hands.
