Chapter 5 - Awakening in Chains
Ten days after the crash, the phone call came from Seattle Grace Trauma Center.
“Mrs. Vance? This is Dr. Vance. Your husband... he has regained consciousness.”
The words hung in the air with clinical detachment.
“Is he coherent?” I asked.
“Mostly. He’s confused, in a great deal of pain, and asking for you.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
When I walked into Room 402, the room was dimly lit. Evan was propped up slightly on the hospital bed, his right arm in traction, a white mesh cap covering his bandaged skull. His face was still a patchwork of purple bruises, and his eyes were bloodshot and wide with sheer panic.
When the door clicked open and I stepped into his field of vision, his expression shifted from confusion to desperate relief.
“Lauren...” he croaked out, his voice sounding like dry sandpaper scraping across stone. He tried to reach out with his left hand, but the IV lines and monitors held him tethered to the bed. “Thank God... thank God you’re here. Where am I? What happened to the car?”
I didn't walk to his bedside. I stopped at the foot of the bed, resting my hands calmly in the pockets of my tailored wool coat, looking down at him with an expression of complete indifference.
Evan blinked hard, trying to focus his gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that? Get the nurse. Get me some water. My head feels like it’s splitting open.”
“The nurse will be in shortly, Evan,” I said evenly.
He frowned, finally noticing that I wasn't wearing my wedding ring. His eyes darted down to my hands, then back to my face, where a cold terror began to creep into his eyes.
“Where’s my phone?” he demanded, his voice rising in panic. “Where is my briefcase? The guys said the police took my personal effects. Lauren, there was sensitive corporate data in that briefcase—loans, restructuring drafts, private client files—if the board sees those before I get back to the office—”
“Your office terminated your partnership twelve days ago, Evan,” I interrupted smoothly.
The color drained entirely from his bruised face. He stared at me as if I were speaking a foreign language.
“What... what are you talking about?”
“Sterling & Associates received federal subpoenas the morning after your accident,” I explained, my voice as calm as if I were reading a grocery list. “They audited your division, discovered the multi-million-dollar embezzled fund routed through Chloe Miller’s LLC, and fired you unanimously before handing your hard drives directly over to the Department of Justice.”
Evan’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. A horrific gurgle of denial caught in his throat. “No... no, that’s impossible. I hid those routing numbers behind three layers of shell corporations. Nobody could trace that unless—unless—”
He stopped. His bloodshot eyes widened to the size of saucers as he stared at me, truly seeing me for the first time in years.
“You,” he whispered, horror dawning like a physical blow. “You did this.”
“I didn't have to do anything, Evan,” I said, stepping closer to the bed so he could see every word clearly. “You built your entire criminal enterprise on arrogance, believing that because I was quiet, I was stupid. You forgot that before I married you, I was a senior forensic accountant who spent her days tearing criminals like you apart for breakfast.”
Evan began to shake, the monitors beside his bed beeping with an erratic, dangerous rhythm. “Lauren, please... you have to help me. Get your attorney—get Evelyn Hart—we can spin this, we can make a deal with the prosecutors, you know how to hide asset trails—!”
I reached into my bag, pulled out a thick manila envelope, and tossed it onto his lap.
“Those are the finalized divorce papers,” I said quietly. “Signed, sealed, and filed. The courts have already frozen every remaining joint asset, and your personal bank accounts have been seized under federal asset forfeiture laws. You are legally, financially, and permanently out of my life.”
Evan stared down at the envelope as if it were a bomb about to detonate. Tears spilled over his battered eyelids, tracking hot and fast down his bruised cheeks.
May you like
“Don’t leave me, Lauren,” he sobbed, his voice breaking into a pathetic, desperate whine. “I need you. Without you, I’m nothing.”
“I know,” I replied softly, turning toward the door. “That was always your biggest mistake.”
