Chapter 5
"What a coincidence," Macey said.
Coincidence? Please. I had lived in this neighborhood for six years, and this was the only supermarket around. She must've gone through a mountain of information to track me down here.
"Emmaline, can we have a quick chat?" Macey called out.
I kept loading my groceries into the car, not stopping for her.
She trailed after me. "Emmaline, honestly, there's no bad blood between us. Desmond... he was definitely in the wrong. But what's done is done. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
I picked up a bag of walnuts, checked the expiration date, and placed it in the trunk.
"Anything else?" I asked.
She was caught off guard by my reaction.
She probably thought I'd start an argument, or at least stop and grill her.
But I didn't bother. I just kept packing my groceries into the car.
"Emmaline, I know you're suing Desmond," Macey said, lowering her voice. "Do you really have to take it this far? He knows he messed up, and he honestly regrets it."
"How sorry is he?" I asked.
"He's barely slept these past few days."
"Didn't sleep well, huh?" I nodded. "Yeah, that's tough."
Macey stared at me for a few seconds. "So, Emmaline, what is it you want?"
"Why don't you tell me?" I shot back.
"If it's about money, I can have Desmond add more. Just name your price," Macey said.
Thinking I was finally softening up, she quickly stepped closer.
"Go on, just say it," she pressed.
I shut the trunk.
"Macey, when are you and Desmond going to come clean about that marriage certificate you got in Montavia?" I asked.
Her face went pale in an instant.
"H-How did you know about that?" she stammered.
"I know a lot more than you think," I replied.
She gripped the hem of her dress, her fingers so tight they looked like they might snap.
"If you want to know how this is going to play out, ask your lawyer. But let me give you a heads-up, so you can't say no one warned you," I said.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Bigamy."
I pulled open the car door.
"I don't have any personal beef with you. But the law's got a score to settle," I said.
I could hear her footsteps rushing after me.
"Emmaline, don't push it. Who do you think you are? You're just—" she choked on her words. because Mason had pulled up to the supermarket entrance.
It was a black Mercedes.
Mason got out and respectfully opened the back door.
"Ms. Murphy, please get in," he said.
Macey stood at the supermarket entrance, mouth agape, speechless.
I got into the car.
Mason closed the door, and the car drove off.
In the rearview mirror, she was still standing there, rooted to the spot.
Back at the estate, I called Soren.
"Macey came to see me at the supermarket today. I mentioned what happened in Montavia," I said.
Soren paused for a couple of seconds.
"Ms. Murphy, you played that card too soon," he said.
"Not at all. Now that she knows I've got this card, she'll start panicking. And when she panics, she'll make mistakes. The more mistakes she makes, the easier it'll be for us in court."
Soren chuckled. "Ms. Murphy, you've really changed."
"Really?"
"You never used to be this calculating."
"Soren, the old me actually believed Desmond loved me."
*****
The next day, Desmond's lawyer reached out to Soren.
His name was Anthony Whitley, and he'd been practicing law in this city for over twenty years. Word was, he had quite the reputation.
Anthony got straight to the point. "So, what exactly is Ms. Murphy asking for? If it's about money, we're open to negotiation."
Soren sent my terms over.
Anthony read through them, and the line went quiet for a long moment.
"Soren, this number... it's just not realistic," Anthony said.
"Which part isn't realistic?"
"All of them."
Soren didn't bother responding.
Anthony tried a different approach.
"My client is willing to add 700 thousand dollars to the original 250 thousand dollars, making it a total of 950 thousand dollars. This is a sincere offer," Anthony said.
When Soren passed the number along, I was lounging in the yard, soaking up the sun.
"950 thousand dollars?" I echoed.
"Anthony's exact words: 'Considering both parties' financial situation and the length of the marriage, this is a reasonable compensation offer,'" Soren replied.
Did the math in my head.
Desmond's company was worth 400 million dollars, two fancy houses together cost about 15 million, and a Bentley that set him back over 700 thousand dollars. Six years of marriage, and he'd stacked up at least 30 million dollars in assets.
And now he was offering me 950 thousand dollars.
That was barely 0.213% of everything he owned.
That was a bit more generous than the 250 thousand dollars he offered last time.
A step up, I suppose.
But he was still treating me like a beggar.
"Pass this on for me," I said.
"Go ahead," Soren replied.