The city was loud, chaotic, and alive. I took a deep breath, the first real breath I’d taken in months. I walked down the steps past the waiting paparazzi that Lorraine had undoubtedly tipped off to capture my humiliation. I kept my head high, my sunglasses on. I saw Preston’s driver waiting at the curb, the back door open.
Tiffany was inside reapplying her lip gloss. She saw me and offered a pitying little wave. I didn’t react. I walked past them to a black sedan waiting further down the block. I slid into the back seat. The door closed, sealing out the noise of the city. Where to, Miss Vance? The driver asked.
It wasn’t Otis, the family driver. This was a private car I had hired. Just drive, I said. I pulled out my phone. It was a secure line, a burner phone I had kept hidden in my vanity for 3 years. My hands were trembling, not from sadness, but from the adrenaline of what I was about to do. I dialed a number saved simply as Felix. It rang once, twice.
Bonjour, Ms. Vance, a crisp, professional voice answered. Felix, my contact at the private bank in Zurich. We have been expecting your call. I looked out the tinted window. I could see Preston coming down the courthouse steps, practically skipping. He high-fived his lawyer. He hugged his mother.
He got into the car with his mistress, probably promising her the world. He thought he was the king of New York. He thought he had one. Felix, I said, my voice study devoid of the tears I had shed in private for months. The divorce is finalized. The papers are signed. I understand, Felix replied. Shall we proceed with the protocol? Yes, I said.
Execute the trigger clause immediately. Freeze the accounts, all of them, the corporate operating accounts, the investment portfolios, the offshore holdings, and the personal accounts of Preston Clay and Lorraine Clay. and the authorization code? Felix asked. I took a breath. This was it, the nuclear option. Phoenix rising 1 1987. Confirmed, Felix said, the sound of typing audible in the background.
Processing. The assets are now locked. Total value $212 million. The freeze is absolute. No transactions in or out without your biometric approval. Thank you, Felix. Ms. Vance, Felix added, his tone softening slightly. Is there anything else? Yes, I said watching Preston’s car pull away into traffic heading toward the luxury real estate district.
Set the notification alert to immediate. I want him to know exactly when the car declines. Done. Good day, Madame President. I hung up the phone and leaned back against the leather seat. A single tear escaped from under my sunglasses, tracing a path down my cheek. I wiped it away furiously. I wasn’t crying for him.
I was crying for the girl I used to be. The girl who had believed in fairy tales. But that girl was gone. In her place was the woman who held the keys to the kingdom, and I had just changed the locks. To understand why I, Meredith Vance, a woman who could mentally calculate compound interest faster than most people could type it into a calculator, married a man like Preston Clay, you have to understand where I came from.
I didn’t grow up with silver spoons. I grew up with plastic sporks in a state-run group home in Ohio. My parents died in a car accident when I was four, leaving me with nothing but a fuzzy memory of my mother’s laugh and a terrifying intelligence that alienated me from the other kids. I was the weird girl who read the stock market pages in the newspaper instead of comic books.
