Chapter 8 - FOCUS AND EXPOSURE
Six months later.
The gallery in the South End was packed to capacity. Waiters moved through the crowd with trays of champagne. Jazz played softly from hidden speakers.
The walls were lined with massive, breathtaking photographs. The exhibition was titled Foundations. It featured the raw, skeletal beginnings of the new Calder Rowe tower, juxtaposed with striking portraits of the construction workers, the architects, and the raw earth. The light in every photograph was perfect—patient, revealing, and honest.
Claire stood in the center of the room, wearing an elegant emerald-green dress, laughing with a group of art critics.
She had never felt more alive.
The financial settlement had been finalized three months prior. With Ethan fired for cause, his leverage in the divorce had evaporated. Claire kept the proceeds from the sale of the Newton house, half of his retirement accounts, and a lump sum alimony payment that ensured she would never have to worry about money again.
Ethan had moved into a small, rented condo in the suburbs. He had tried to get a job at rival firms, but the Boston financial world was small, and Marcus Calder’s shadow was large. Nobody wanted to hire the man who had been publicly gutted by his own founder.
As Claire turned to greet a new guest, she saw him.
Ethan was standing near the entrance. He looked thinner, his hair grayer, his suit slightly wrinkled. He looked like a man who had aged five years in six months.
Claire excused herself from the critics and walked over to him. She didn’t feel fear, or even anger.
“Ethan.”
He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “Claire. I saw the banner outside. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. What are you doing here, Ethan?”
“I just wanted to see you,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I wanted to see what I lost. The apartment is so quiet, Claire. Nobody knows where my keys are. Nobody reminds me to call my mother. I don’t know how to do any of it.”
It was the most honest thing he had ever said to her. He didn't miss her love; he missed her utility. He missed his administrator.
“You’ll have to learn,” Claire said softly. “Like I had to learn how to live for myself again.”
“Can we try again?” he pleaded, reaching out to touch her arm. “We have seventeen years of history. We can go to counseling. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Before Claire could step back, a large, warm hand clamped down firmly on Ethan’s shoulder.
“Mr. Whitmore,” Marcus Calder said, appearing beside Claire. He was holding two glasses of champagne, handing one to Claire. “I believe this is a private, invitation-only event.”
Ethan shrank under Marcus’s gaze. “I was just leaving.”
“See that you do,” Marcus said pleasantly. “The security here is quite efficient.”
May you like
Ethan looked at Claire one last time, searching for a lifeline. She just took a sip of her champagne.
He turned and walked out into the cold night, the heavy gallery doors closing shut behind him, sealing him out of her world forever.
