Chapter 9 - Clean MarginsThree months later, the Boston Superior Court was unnervingly quiet.
The divorce was not a battle; it was an execution. Armed with airtight documentation of financial embezzlement, mortgage fraud, and flagrant breach of marital vows, my legal team dismantled Julian’s life with surgical precision.
Julian didn't fight back. He couldn't. The Boston General Hospital ethics committee had quietly accepted his resignation following the sudden, mysterious leak of his financial records and professional misconduct. Stripped of his position, saddled with massive legal debt from the Cambridge property fiasco, and abandoned by Vanessa—who immediately vanished the moment the lawsuits piled up—Julian had become a ghost of his former self.
I sat on the patio of my new downtown penthouse, watching the sun set over the Boston skyline. The vintage fairy lights were gone, replaced by sleek, modern architectural fixtures that cast a clean, warm glow across the hardwood terrace.
My phone buzzed on the table beside my wineglass.
It was an unknown number, but I already knew who it was. I swiped the screen and pressed it to my ear.
"Claire?" Julian’s voice sounded hollow, broken, barely recognizable as the proud surgeon who used to command operating rooms. "Please... I’m living in a studio apartment across town. My license is suspended. I have nothing left. I just... I wanted to know if we could talk. Just once."
I took a slow sip of my Pinot Noir, looking out over the glittering city lights.
"Julian," I said, my voice as calm and steady as a heartbeat monitor. "You have the wrong number."
May you like
"Claire, wait—!"
I tapped the red button, ending the call, and then calmly blocked the number forever.
