I slid the tray aside and pulled the folder out from underneath. Trevor’s smirk flickered. “What is that?” Sloane asked, suddenly less interested in her ring. I opened it slowly, the way he used to open his bourbon on Sundays. “Trevor, do you remember the bakery I started in our garage twelve years ago? The one you called my ‘cute little hobby’?” He rolled his eyes. “Diana, get to the point.” “The point,” I said, sliding the first page across the marble, “is that my cute little hobby became Hearthstone Foods. Forty-two storefronts across Colorado and Utah. Last quarter we cleared eleven million in revenue.” The color drained from his face. “That’s impossible. That money would have shown up in our accounts.” “It would have,” I agreed, “if I hadn’t incorporated it under my mother’s maiden name the year you forgot our anniversary to fly Sloane to Cabo.” Sloane’s mouth dropped open. “Cabo was a work trip,” she whispered. “He told me Cabo was a work trip too,” I said gently. I slid the second page over. “This is the title to the Aspen house. Bought outright, in my name, six months ago, after I quietly purchased it from the bank when your business loan defaulted. You’ve been living in my house, Trevor. Rent free.” He stood up so fast the stool clattered. “You can’t do this.” “I already did. My attorney is in the driveway. You have twenty minutes to pack a bag.” I turned to Sloane and offered her a warm cinnamon roll. “Sweetheart, check the prenup he made you sign last month. Page nine. He put everything in a trust your name isn’t on.” She looked at Trevor like she was seeing him for the first time. I picked up my coffee, walked to the window, and watched the snow fall over the mountains I now owned outright. Behind me, Trevor was begging. For the first time in nineteen years, I didn’t turn around.
I poured myself a cup of coffee, slow and deliberate, while Brielle’s friends filmed. ‘Sweetheart,’ I said, ‘before you redecorate, you should meet someone.’ The […]
