Chapter 5 - The Walk of Shame
It took Mark and Vanessa three days to get back to the United States.
Without my credit cards, they had been thrown out of the luxury resort. According to the furious, humiliating voicemails Mark had left on my office phone, they had to pawn Vanessa's diamond tennis bracelet just to afford two standby tickets in coach on a budget airline.
They arrived at my house on a rainy Thursday afternoon. I was sitting in the living room, sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea, watching the security camera feed on my tablet.
An exhaust-spewing taxi pulled up to the curb. Mark and Vanessa stepped out, looking absolutely miserable. Mark was wearing the same wrinkled linen shirt he had left in. Vanessa’s normally flawless blowout was frizzy and unkempt, her designer sunglasses hiding her swollen eyes. They dragged their cheap, newly purchased duffel bags up the driveway, looking like two drowned rats.
Mark marched up to the front porch, dripping wet, and jammed his key into the lock.
It didn't turn.
He jiggled it. He cursed. He tried again.
I watched as the realization hit him. He slammed his fist against the heavy oak door. "Clara! Open the damn door! I know you're in there!"
I set my teacup down, smoothed the fabric of my tailored trousers, and walked to the door. I didn't open it all the way. I left the heavy brass chain engaged, opening it just a few inches to look out at them.
"You're trespassing," I said calmly.
"Clara, stop this childish nonsense!" Mark barked, his face red with anger and humiliation. "Let us in! We are exhausted, we have no money, and I am legally entitled to enter my own home!"
"Actually, Mark, you're not," I replied, slipping a folded legal document through the crack in the door. It fluttered to the wet porch floor. "That is a temporary restraining order, granted by a judge yesterday morning after my attorney presented evidence of your attempted half-million-dollar wire fraud."
Mark stared at the paper as if it were a venomous snake. All the color drained from his face. "Wire... wire fraud?"
"Yes," I smiled warmly. "The bank flagged it. The police have the file. If you step foot on this property again, you will be arrested."
Vanessa pushed her way forward, tears streaming down her face. "Clara, please! I have nowhere to go! My cards are maxed out, and my husband isn't answering his phone! Just let me inside to make a call!"
"I don't think David wants to speak to you, Vanessa," a deep, furious voice boomed from the driveway.
Vanessa froze. She turned around slowly.
David Sterling, her husband, was standing by his car, holding a thick manila envelope. He looked exhausted, heartbroken, but utterly resolute. I had met with him two days prior. I had shown him the evidence of the affair, the offshore accounts, and the forged second mortgage.
"David..." Vanessa whimpered, taking a step toward him.
"Don't come near me," David snapped, his voice echoing in the quiet neighborhood. Several neighbors had already stepped out onto their porches to watch the spectacle. "I went to the bank, Vanessa. I saw the forged documents. The police are waiting for you at our house. You’re being charged with felony forgery and grand larceny."
Vanessa’s knees buckled. She collapsed right there on my wet porch, sobbing hysterically, burying her face in her hands.
Mark looked back and forth between David and me, absolute terror finally setting into his eyes. The grand illusion was over. The stolen money was gone. The secret condo was a pipe dream. They were broke, homeless, and facing felony charges.
"Clara... please," Mark whispered, his arrogant facade completely shattered. He looked pathetic. Small. "I'm your husband. I'm sorry. I made a mistake."
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"You didn't make a mistake, Mark. You made a choice," I said, my voice ringing with cold, absolute finality. "And now, you get to live with the consequences. Goodbye."
I shut the heavy oak door, slid the deadbolt into place, and walked back to my tea. Outside, the sirens were already approaching.
