Chapter 9 - The Reckoning
The final settlement conference took place six months later, in the cold, neutral boardroom of the Charleston County Judicial Center.
The autumn had stripped the live oaks of their heavy summer leaves, and a crisp, salty wind was blowing off the harbor, rattling the tall windows.
Garrett Bellamy looked like an echo of the man I had married.
He had lost twenty pounds. His tailored linen shirts had been replaced by a cheap, off-the-rack gray suit that hung loosely from his collarbones. Following the forensic audit of Bellamy & Associates, his partners had not only expelled him from the LLC but had initiated a civil suit for breach of fiduciary duty, freezing his partnership capital. To avoid immediate federal indictment for wire fraud, he had entered into a pre-trial diversion agreement that required full restitution, hundreds of hours of community service, and the permanent surrender of his South Carolina professional engineering license.
He was finished. Not just in Charleston society, but in his profession.
Across the table, Douglas Miller looked equally defeated, his briefcase bulging with unpaid fee notices.
Vivian Cross laid the final agreement on the table.
“The terms are non-negotiable, Doug,” Vivian said, her hands resting flat on the mahogany. “Your client signs the complete relinquishment of any and all claims to the Tradd Street property, acknowledging that it was at all times the separate, non-marital property of Reese Montgomery.”
“Agreed,” Miller said wearily.
“He forfeits any claim to the equity or goodwill of Montgomery Design Studio.”
“Agreed.”
“He surrenders all rights to the fifty-eight thousand dollars recovered from the Chatham Escrow account, and he assumes sole, exclusive liability for the two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar line of credit at First National Bank, releasing Mrs. Bellamy from the forged personal guarantee.”
Garrett looked up, his eyes hollow, rimmed with dark, permanent exhaustion. “I can’t pay that back, Reese. The bank will force me into Chapter 7 bankruptcy. I won’t have a dime to my name.”
I looked at him across the table. For months, I had wondered what I would feel when this moment came. Would I feel the hot, searing rush of vengeance? The cold satisfaction of total victory?
I felt none of those things.
I felt only a profound, liberating emptiness—the sensation of stepping out from under a collapsing roof into the clean, open air.
“You should have thought about bankruptcy, Garrett,” I said softly, “before you bought a white silk dress for Chloe Vance with my credit card.”
His lips twitched. He looked down at the paper.
“Sign it, Garrett,” Miller muttered under his breath, nudging the gold pen toward him. “Sign it before Vivian hands the Delaware LLC files back to the federal prosecutor.”
Garrett’s hand was shaking as he picked up the pen.
He signed his name on the six execution lines. Each signature was small, cramped, and jagged—the signature of a man who had run out of road, run out of lies, and run out of women to finance his illusions.
When he finished, Vivian gathered the documents into her folder, tied the ribbon with a neat, surgical knot, and stood up.
“It is finished,” Vivian said.
I stood up, smoothed the skirt of my charcoal wool dress, and picked up my leather handbag.
Garrett looked up at me as I turned toward the door. “Reese?”
I paused, my hand on the polished brass handle of the boardroom door.
“Do you… do you hate me?” he whispered.
I looked back at him over my shoulder. The light from the harbor was streaming through the tall glass, illuminating every line of failure etched into his face.
“No, Garrett,” I said, and the truth of it was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted. “I don't hate you. To hate you, I would have to think about you tomorrow. And I have work to do.”
May you like
I turned the handle, walked out into the corridor, and left him sitting in the empty room with his lawyer and his debts.
***
