Chapter 5 - The Snake Bites Back
By eight o'clock the following morning, the sun broke through the clouds over New York, but for Everett Hale, the world was pitch black.
He sat on a dirty plastic chair inside a dingy, twenty-four-hour diner three blocks away from his former corporate headquarters. His sixty-thousand-dollar suit was ruined, stiffened with dried rainwater and mud. Across from him sat Diane, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow as she stared at a cold cup of black coffee she couldn't afford to pay for.
Their remaining personal credit cards had all been declined at the diner counter ten minutes earlier. The manager had only let them stay because Everett had been forced to leave his gold wedding band—the one he hadn't thrown at my feet—as collateral.
"We have to go to the media," Diane hissed, her voice trembling with a terrifying blend of rage and fear. "We go to the New York Post! We tell them that Claire is a cold-blooded monster who stole your company and threw her elderly mother-in-law into the street! The public will destroy her!"
"Are you insane, Mother?!" Everett snapped, his voice hoarse. "If we go to the media, Vanguard’s legal team will release the audit reports! They'll show that I moved fourteen million out of the treasury! I'll be in handcuffs before noon!"
"Then call Vanessa!" Diane demanded, grabbing his wrist. "She has the money! You said you transferred millions into her accounts! Call her! We can take her offshore account funds and fly to Europe!"
Everett’s hand shook as he pulled out his phone, which was down to four percent battery. He dialed Vanessa’s number.
It rang once. Twice. Then went straight to voicemail.
He dialed again. This time, a mechanical tone informed him that his number had been blocked.
"She blocked me..." Everett whispered, staring at the screen in absolute disbelief. "That snake... she blocked my number!"
"What?!" Diane shrieked, slamming her hands on the sticky formica table. "After everything we did for her?! After I defended her at the gala?! After I called that barren woman names for her?!"
"I'm going to her apartment," Everett growled, his eyes turning wild and bloodshot. He stood up so fast his chair screeched against the linoleum floor. "She has my money. She's carrying my child. She isn't getting away with this!"
Thirty minutes later, Everett was standing in the lobby of an ultra-luxurious residential high-rise in SoHo—a building he had personally bought Vanessa a penthouse in using Vanguard funds.
He tried to rush past the front desk toward the elevators, but two burly concierges immediately stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
"Mr. Hale," the head doorman said coldly, holding up a hand. "You are not permitted on the residential floors."
"Get out of my way!" Everett shouted, trying to push past them. "I pay the rent for the penthouse! Miss Thorne is my girlfriend! She's pregnant with my child!"
"Miss Thorne moved out two hours ago, sir," the doorman replied calmly, tossing a thick white envelope onto the marble counter. "She left this for you."
Everett snatched the envelope, his fingers tearing the paper open frantically. Inside was a single sheet of paper from a top-tier Manhattan medical clinic, along with a hand-written note.
Everett’s eyes scanned the medical document first.
PATIENT: VANESSA THORNE DIAGNOSIS: PREGNANCY TEST - NEGATIVE. ULTRASOUND: SIMULATED / PURCHASED DEMONSTRATION GRAPHIC.
The note written on pink stationery beneath it was brief, sharp, and merciless:
May you like
Everett, thanks for the fourteen million. The ultrasound was a ten-dollar prop I bought online. Did you really think a man who could be tricked into throwing away a Chairwoman billionaire was smart enough to be a father? Don't bother looking for me. I'm already on a flight to Dubai. Bye!
Everett’s knees buckled. He collapsed onto the polished marble floor of the SoHo lobby, the paper fluttering from his fingers as a guttural, broken scream tore from his throat.
