Chapter 4
I looked up at him.
"Will he sign it?" I asked.
"He will," Mr. Warren replied, pushing up his glasses, his eyes sharp behind the lenses. "Trust me, I'll make sure he signs."
He pointed at my phone on the table.
"This evidence is more than enough to prove he's at fault. If he doesn't agree to the divorce and tries to take this to court, he'll be even worse off. He won't get a single dollar, and he could end up losing his job, too."
Adam worked at a state-owned company, and his reputation meant everything to him.
"Also," Mr. Warren said as he pulled out another document from his briefcase, "I had someone pull Adam's bank statements this morning. Here are his transactions from the past six months, take a look."
I took the papers from him.
Every month, there was a regular transfer of 1,700 dollars.
The recipient's name didn't ring a bell.
But when I opened the zip file Sophie sent me, I found Vanessa's full profile.
It had her ID and bank account numbers.
I cross-checked the details.
Turns out, the account getting the money was Vanessa's.
So, for the past six months, he'd been funneling money to her.
Using the money we'd saved up for our wedding.
I gave a short, humorless laugh.
It sounded cold, almost chilling.
"Uncle Warren, add this to the agreement," I said, handing him the bank statements. "Illegal transfer of marital assets."
Mr. Warren nodded.
"Got it," he said.
At 9 a.m., Ms. Jones arrived.
She was dressed in casual clothes, but carried a briefcase in her hand.
When she saw me, she sighed and pulled me into a hug.
"Claire, I never imagined things would end up like this," Ms. Jones said.
"It's okay, Ms. Jones," I said, patting her back. "I'm just glad you're here."
"Don't be silly, Claire. Whatever you're going through, I'm right there with you," she said.
She let go of me and pulled two official certificate booklets from her bag.
"I brought everything. As soon as he signs, I can finalize the divorce for you right here," she said.
She meant the official divorce certificates.
Everything was ready.
The apartment was filled with people.
My parents, Mr. Warren, and Ms. Jones were all there.
Everyone looked serious.
It felt like a trial.
All that was left was for the guilty man to show up and face us himself.
10:30 a.m.
The sound of a key turning came from the door.
He's here.
I took a deep breath, sat up straight in the center of the sofa, and squared my shoulders.
Mom looked like she wanted to say something, but Dad gave her a look that stopped her cold.
Everyone turned to look at the door.
The door opened.
Adam walked in.
His suit was rumpled, his hair a mess, but he looked oddly unfazed.
He was holding a huge bouquet of red roses.
Ninety-nine of them.
He wore a contrite, ingratiating smile, trying hard to win favor.
Adam began, "Honey, I'm back. The rain was insane last night, my friend's car broke down halfway, and I..."
He stopped short as soon as he saw everyone in the living room.
His smile slowly stiffened, turning into an awkward mask.
His hands, still holding the roses, froze in midair.
The roses were fresh, still glistening with dew.
Then, with a sharp smack, the bouquet dropped to the floor.
Ninety-nine roses spilled across the floor.
Bright red petals scattered across the entryway.
All the color drained from his face in an instant.
His lips trembled as he looked at me, then at my parents, and finally at Mr. Warren and the papers on the table.
On the cover, bold black letters spelled out:
[Divorce Agreement]
I looked at him and gave a slow, cold smile.
I raised an eyebrow, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Done delivering the medicine?"
"Good. Then it's time to sign," I said.
Adam's legs went weak.
He collapsed to his knees in the sea of rose petals.
His knees pressed into the fragile petals, a faint crackling sound rising up.
Just like this pathetic excuse for a marriage between us.
"Claire, what's going on?" Adam stammered, panic flickering in his eyes.