“Where is she?” Preston asked, his voice hoarse. “She said she would come. My lawyer said she would come. Madame Sinclair is currently in Tokyo,” Henderson said, his tiny voice coming through the telephone receiver.
She’s finalizing the acquisition of the tech firm you couldn’t secure. She sends her regards and this. Henderson held a document up to the glass. Preston squinted. It was a final divorce decree. She signed it this morning, Henderson explained. You get nothing.
Of course, the prenuptial agreement you signed, which you thought was just standard paperwork for the house deed, was actually quite comprehensive. You waive all claims to assets, alimony, and property.
“I have nothing,” Preston whispered. “I don’t have any money for the police station. I need things, Henderson. Toothpaste, protective soap. You owe me, Mr. Omali.”
Henderson corrected him. The court ordered restitution of $4.2 million. His wages at the prison laundry, 12 cents an hour, will be garnished to pay that.
According to my calculations, you’ll be dead in about 4,000 years. Preston slammed his fist against the glass. This is cruel. She has billions. Why does she care about 4 million? Henderson put the document away and stood up.
He looked at Preston with a flash of what might have been pity, but was probably just indifference. It’s not about the money, Preston. It never was. It’s about the principle. You underestimated her. You thought she was weak because she was kind.
You thought I was stupid because I was quiet. Henderson hung up the phone. Wait. Preston shouted. Her voice muffled by the glass. Don’t leave me here, Henderson. Henderson didn’t look back.
He left the gray room, leaving Preston alone with his reflection in the glass, a reflection of a man who had it all. He threw it all away for a cheap thrill and lost to the woman he never bothered to truly know. Outside the prison, a black limousine waited.
Henderson got into the back seat. Vivian sat there reviewing a file on her tablet. She looked radiant in a cream-colored business suit. “Is it done?” she asked without looking up. “It’s done, ma’am,” Henderson replied.
He signed the final acknowledgment. Vivien turned off the tablet. She looked out the window at the grim gray walls of the prison. For a moment, a shadow crossed her face, the memory of the love she thought she had, but it passed quickly, replaced by the warm sun of a new day.
“Drive,” she told the chauffeur. “We have a gala in Paris tonight, and I hear the diamonds there are exquisite.” The car started, leaving the prison and the past in the dust, speeding off toward a future that was entirely hers.
Wow, talk about instant karma. Preston thought he was the king of the castle playing checkers while Vivian was playing 4D chess the whole time.
Just prove never confuse silence with weakness and never bite the hand that feeds you, especially if that hand is holding a $12 million sapphire.
Preston learned the hard way that when you build a life on lies, the truth doesn’t just hurt, it destroys. He lost his freedom, his dignity, and the best thing that had ever happened to him. All because of his own ego. What do you think?
Was Vivien’s punishment too harsh, or did Preston get exactly what he deserved? I want to hear your verdict in the comments below.
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