When dinner ended, Arthur wiped his mouth with a silk napkin and said, “Nora. My study. Now.”
Julian did not flinch.
The study doors closed behind us with a sound that reminded me of a coffin lid.
Arthur moved behind his desk.
Julian came in too, but he did not sit. He leaned against a bookshelf and returned to his phone.
The room smelled of leather, cigars, and old money.
Portraits of Sterling men stared down from the walls. Five generations of cold eyes.
Arthur opened a drawer.
“Nora,” he said, “it has been three years since you married into this family.”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“You know how Julian has treated you.”
I said nothing.
“You know your place here.”
My throat tightened.
“You were a lapse in judgment,” Arthur continued. “A phase. One my son has finally grown out of.”
Julian’s face did not change.
Arthur pulled out a check and placed it on the desk.
Then he pushed a stack of papers toward me.
Divorce papers.
Already prepared.
Already waiting.
As if my marriage had ended long before anyone bothered to tell me.
“One hundred twenty million dollars,” Arthur said. “Take it. Sign the papers. Disappear. This is enough to keep you and your pathetic family comfortable for the rest of your lives.”
My pathetic family.
My father, a high school teacher who worked two jobs to put me through college.
My mother, a nurse who had spent thirty years caring for people who could not afford better doctors.
Pathetic.
I felt my hands tremble.
But I kept my face still.