Chapter 6 - The Desperate Beggar
Three days later.
The snow was falling heavily outside the glass windows of the Mercer & Associates law office on Michigan Avenue.
Grant sat across the conference room table from me.
He looked absolute ruined. He was wearing an unironed suit jacket, his eyes were bloodshot, his beard was unkempt, and his hands trembled as he held a paper coffee cup. Beside him sat his cheap legal aid lawyer, a man who looked thoroughly overwhelmed by the wall of evidence Marcus Mercer had placed on the table.
"Meredith, please," Grant whimpered, looking across the table at me with desperate, hollow eyes. "The bank called in my loan yesterday. They froze my company accounts. If you don't re-sign the credit guarantee by Friday, Hails Logistics is going to file for bankruptcy! Fifteen people will lose their jobs!"
"Then you should have thought about those fifteen people before you turned my master bathtub into a champagne lounge for my sister," I said, leaning back in my leather chair, my legs crossed, looking completely unbothered.
"It was Chloe!" Grant suddenly yelled, pointing an accusing finger into the air. "She came onto me, Meredith! She’s been texting me for months! She told me you didn't care about me anymore, that you only cared about your work! I was lonely! I made a mistake, but she manipulated me!"
I smiled softly—a cold, terrifying smile that made Grant’s breath hitch.
"Grant, do you know what the board of my company did yesterday afternoon?" I asked smoothly.
He blinked, confused. "What?"
"They terminated Hails Logistics' transport contract," I informed him. "The audit revealed you were overbilling our shipping routes by twelve percent over the last eighteen months to cover your private credit card debts in Florida."
Grant’s face turned from pale to ghostly white. "No... no, Mere, please! They can't do that! That contract is eighty percent of my revenue!"
"It’s already done," Marcus Mercer chimed in, sliding a thick stack of legal documents across the glossy table. "Mr. Hails, we are offering you a simple choice. You will sign this non-contested divorce decree today. You will surrender all claims to the Lake Forest house, waive spousal support, and transfer your remaining equity in Hails Logistics to Miss Carter to settle your corporate fraud liabilities."
"And if I don't sign?" Grant whispered, his voice trembling violently.
"If you don't sign," Marcus replied with a sweet, dangerous smile, "Miss Carter will file a formal criminal complaint for corporate fraud with the State’s Attorney office by four o'clock. You won't just be bankrupt, Mr. Hails. You'll be facing three to five years in federal prison."
Grant looked at the paper. He looked at the pen. He looked at me—the woman he had thought was sweet, manageable, and easily deceived.
He realized, with absolute, crushing finality, that the woman he had betrayed was not a victim.
May you like
She was the executioner.
With a trembling hand, Grant picked up the pen and signed his name on the bottom line.
