Chapter 2
Chapter 2 Walked Away With Nothing
The next morning, David's lawyer showed up.
We sat across from each other at a table in the hotel lobby.
The lawyer slid over a stack of papers, thick as a book.
"Ms. Sutton, this is the divorce agreement. Mr. Langley's already signed it. Take a look," he said.
I flipped through it.
Page one said the wife agreed to give up all shared assets.
Page two said the wife gave up the house, the car, and every asset connected to Langley Holdings.
Page three said the wife would do nothing to damage Langley Holdings' reputation.
I kept flipping through the pages.
"Where's the pen?" I asked, looking up.
The lawyer paused, and the surprise showed on his face. He had probably dealt with plenty of ex-wives who fought over every dollar, and never one who signed this fast.
"Ms. Sutton, are you sure about this?" he began.
"The pen," I interrupted him.
He handed me a pen.
I signed my name.
The lawyer closed the agreement, hesitating for a moment.
"Mr. Langley asked me to pass this along. In light of your three years together, there's 167 thousand dollars on this card as compensation," he said.
He pushed a bank card toward me.
I didn't take it.
"I don't want it," I said.
"Ms. Sutton, please," he started.
"I said, I don't want it," I cut him off.
He put the card away, grabbed the documents, and left.
Thirty minutes later, my phone would not stop ringing.
The first call was from Chloe, David's brother's wife.
"Grace, you actually went through with the divorce? Have you lost your mind? You're really walking away without taking a single dollar from the Langley family?"
The second call was from my mom.
"Grace, you got divorced and didn't even tell me? Where are you now? Do you have any money with you?"
The third call was from my best friend, Sophie Reed.
"Grace, are you insane? I just saw Olivia's post on Instagram. 'Finally, the day I've been waiting for,' with a photo from the Langley living room. Do you have any idea how many people are laughing at you right now?"
I hung up on all of them.
I changed clothes and went to the courthouse.
David was already waiting at the entrance.
Olivia was standing right next to him.
She had her arm through his and wore a dress that cost more than most people's rent.
When she saw me, she flashed a polite smile.
"Oh, Grace. Sorry, I suppose I should call you Ms. Sutton now," she said.
I didn't even glance at her and walked straight inside.
The paperwork was done in no time.
When we came out, the sun was bright.
David walked up to me, and for the first time in three years he sounded almost serious.
"Grace, what are you going to do now? You can't survive in this city on that salary of yours," he said.
"That's none of your business," I replied.
Olivia came over, a smug look on her face.
"Ms. Sutton, if you need work, I have an opening for an assistant," she said.
I turned to face her.
"Olivia, do you even know what brand your dress is?" I asked.
She blinked, caught off guard.
"It's custom Givenchy. Why?" she said.
"That's last year's fall collection, and it isn't custom," I replied. "On a real custom piece the collar stitching sits an eighth of an inch apart. Yours is closer to a quarter."
Her expression froze.
"It's a knockoff," I said.
I turned and walked away.
Behind me she lowered her voice. "What is she talking about? How would she even know that?"
David's reply was lost in the wind.
I stepped out of the courthouse and saw a black Maybach S680 waiting at the curb.
The door swung open, and a man in a black suit got out.
He looked about 50, with salt-and-pepper hair and a ramrod straight posture.
When he saw me, his eyes went red.
"Ms. Sutton," Harold Foster said, and his voice shook.
"Harold," I replied softly.
I slid into the car.
A change of clothes was laid out in the car, in the size I had worn three years ago.
"Your grandfather is waiting for you at home. I picked the clothes based on what you used to like, and I hope they still fit," Harold said.
"They're perfect," I replied.
The Maybach climbed onto the freeway and headed for the other side of the city.
That was the direction of Maple Ridge Estate.
It was the most exclusive private neighborhood in the city.
The Langley family's so-called mansion wouldn't have earned a parking spot at the gate of Maple Ridge Estate.