Chapter 3 - The Broken Alliance
When Ethan and Madison finally managed to return to Seattle a week later—their flights paid for by Madison’s aging mother, who had to liquidate a portion of her modest retirement fund to save them from a French Polynesian jail—they didn't return to a life of luxury.
They returned to an execution.
The luxury downtown penthouse Ethan owned had been purchased using a corporate shell company funded by the very bridge loans that were now defaulted. By the time their plane touched down at Sea-Tac Airport, a legal eviction notice had already been taped to the double oak doors of the apartment.
I sat in my mother's living room, sipping red bush tea, watching the storm clouds roll over Lake Washington. My mother, Evelyn, walked in carrying a stack of society magazines and local business journals.
"The whispers have started, Olivia," she said, sitting on the armchair across from me. "The charity gala committee just dropped Madison from the board. They cited 'unforeseen personal complications.' And Ethan’s partners at the investment firm have placed him on administrative leave pending the outcome of the federal investigation."
"He thought he could replace me without replacing the foundation I built for him," I said. "He forgot that his partners only trusted him because my family's name was on his letterhead."
A sudden commotion outside drew our attention. The security gate intercom at the front of my mother's estate began to buzz violently. I pulled up the gate camera on my phone.
It was Madison.
She was standing in the pouring rain, without an umbrella, her expensive cream coat soaked through and stained with road grime. Her hair, usually blown out into perfect golden waves, hung around her face in damp, stringy mats. She was screaming into the intercom camera.
"Let her in, Mom," I said quietly.
"Olivia, you shouldn't expose yourself to her stress," my mother warned.
"I want to see her eyes when she realizes what she actually won."
A few minutes later, the heavy front door was pushed open. Madison practically burst into the foyer, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn't look like the triumphant woman who had stood in the courthouse courtyard three weeks ago. She looked like a ghost that had been dragged through the mud.
"You did this!" she shrieked, pointing a trembling, manicured finger at me as I walked into the hallway. "You planned this whole thing! You knew about the trust, you knew about the loans—you set him up!"
"I didn't set anyone up, Madison," I said, keeping my hands folded over my stomach, standing at the top of the two-step foyer landing. "Ethan chose to cheat. Ethan chose to hide assets. Ethan chose to divorce his pregnant wife to marry his mistress forty-three minutes later. All I did was let the law take its course."
"He has nothing!" Madison cried, her voice cracking into a sob. "The bank took the penthouse! The cars are being repossessed tomorrow! The firm is going to fire him! We are staying at a cheap motel near the airport, Olivia! A motel that smells like cigarettes and old bleach!"
"It sounds like a quieter life," I said, using her own words from the courthouse. "You did say I deserved a quieter life, didn't you? I decided to take your advice. I’m living quietly here. You’re the one who wanted to match his ambitions. It turns out his ambitions were just a mountain of debt."
Madison’s expression shifted from rage to a desperate, pathetic pleading. She took a step forward, but my mother’s estate security guard, who had entered quietly behind her, stepped into her path.
"Olivia, please," Madison begged, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "I’m pregnant too. You know what it’s like. You can't let Ethan go to jail. If you drop the fraud reporting, the bank will negotiate a settlement. We can work something out. For the sake of the children—they’re going to be half-siblings!"
"Are they?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Madison froze. The color drained completely from her face, leaving her looking almost gray in the dim light of the foyer. "What... what do you mean?"
"I have a very good private investigator, Madison. His name is Marcus. He’s very thorough. He tracked your itinerary when you went to Cabo last November. The trip Ethan thought was a 'girls' wellness retreat.' Do you remember a man named Jean-Luc? The fitness coordinator at the resort?"
Madison’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked as if she had just been struck by lightning.
"Ethan thinks he’s sacrificing his wealth for his new family," I whispered, stepping down one stair so I was looking directly into her eyes. "He doesn't know that the baby you're carrying isn't a Vance at all. He’s losing eighty-five million dollars for a child that belongs to a man who doesn't even remember your last name."
"Please," Madison whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain outside. "Please don't tell him. If he finds out, he’ll leave me. I’ll have nothing."
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"You already have nothing, Madison," I said. "You wanted my life. Now you have the version of it you created. Frank," I looked at the security guard, "please escort Mrs. Vance off the property. The air is getting heavy in here."
As the guard led her away, Madison didn't fight. She walked out into the rain like a woman marching to the gallows. She had sought to destroy my marriage for a crown of gold, only to find out it was made of rusted iron.
