Chapter 6 - The Anatomy of Revenge
While Adrian sat in a holding cell at the central precinct, I was sitting in my new corner office at Valecrest Tower, reviewing our Q3 financial projections.
The market had reacted with initial shock to Adrian’s removal, but once investors realized that I was now at the helm, Valecrest’s stock price hadn't just stabilized—it had surged by twelve percent.
My sister Mara walked into the office carrying two cups of artisan coffee. She set one on my glass desk and pulled up a chair.
“You haven't rested in three days, Claire,” Mara noted softly. “Are you okay?”
I took a slow sip of coffee, leaning back against my leather chair. “I’ve never felt clearer in my life, Mara.”
“Do you miss him at all?” she asked cautiously. “Even a little bit?”
I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. “I miss the quiet life I thought we were going to build. But I don't miss Adrian. He was a shadow of a man, chasing whatever validated his fragile ego. If Vanessa hadn't called him on our wedding day, he would have spent the next ten years slowly draining my life and my fortune while pretending to love me.”
Mara smiled, shaking her head in admiration. “You know, everyone in town is calling you the Cold-Hearted Bride.”
“Let them,” I replied calmly. “A woman who defends her hard work is always called cold-hearted by people who wanted to use her.”
My desk phone chimed. I pressed the speaker button.
“Claire,” my assistant’s voice came through. “Mr. Richard Hale is here with a settlement request from Adrian’s defense team.”
“Send him in,” I said.
Richard walked into the office, carrying a leather folder. He sat across from me and laid out a proposal drafted by Adrian’s court-appointed lawyer.
“They’re begging for a plea deal, Claire,” Richard explained. “Adrian is facing up to fifteen years in state prison for the embezzlement charges. His lawyer says Adrian is willing to sign over his remaining personal holdings, issue a formal public apology, and surrender all future claims to Valecrest if you request the district attorney to recommend probation.”
I looked at the document. Adrian’s sloppy, desperate signature was signed at the bottom of the page.
“He wants mercy,” I observed softly.
“He has no leverage left,” Richard said. “His mother sold her remaining jewelry this morning just to pay his initial legal retainer.”
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I picked up my fountain pen, tapped it against the desk, and then looked up at Richard.
“Tell his attorney that mercy is a luxury reserved for people who didn't choose to destroy others,” I said firmly. “He can plead guilty and serve his time. I won't mitigate a single charge.”
