Chapter 12 - A Desperate PleaThe Seattle autumn brought endless, unforgiving rain. It was late on a Thursday night when the security alarms on my Mercer Island property pinged my phone. I checked the perimeter cameras from my iPad.
A figure in a dark jacket was walking up the long, winding driveway. He must have slipped in behind a grocery delivery van before the heavy iron gates closed.
It was Grant.
I didn't call the police immediately. I walked downstairs, turned on the massive floodlights that illuminated the front porch, and stood behind the reinforced glass of the front door.
Grant looked awful. The man who used to spend forty minutes perfectly grooming his hair was soaked to the bone, his jacket clinging to his shivering frame. He looked older, smaller, completely hollowed out.
He saw me standing in the foyer and practically threw himself against the glass, pressing his palms against the cold pane.
"Nat!" he yelled over the sound of the pouring rain. "Natalie, please! Open the door!"
I unlocked the deadbolt but kept the heavy security chain firmly engaged. I opened the door just three inches, a wall of cold air rushing in.
"You are trespassing, Grant," I said flatly. "You have two minutes before I trigger the panic button and have Mercer Island Police escort you off the island in handcuffs."
"Please, just listen to me!" he begged, water dripping from his nose. "You’ve taken everything. The JAG investigation is moving to a court-martial. Evelyn Vance has frozen my bank accounts to secure the $250,000 penalty. I’m living in a Motel 6 off the interstate, Nat. My credit cards are declining. My career is over. Just... call off the lawyers. Please. Have some mercy."
I looked at him. I searched my heart for any lingering shred of the love I had felt for this man for over a decade. I found nothing but cold, sterile pity.
"Mercy?" I repeated softly. "Did you have mercy on Ethan when you let him stand at a security gate in the freezing cold holding a box of cinnamon rolls he baked for you? Did you have mercy on me when you were sleeping with a woman whose business I funded?"
"I made a mistake!" Grant sobbed, gripping the edge of the doorframe. "I was stupid! I lost my way. Claire means nothing to me. She left me the second the money dried up. It was a terrible mistake!"
"No, Grant," I corrected him, looking directly into his red, bloodshot eyes. "Leaving the garage door open is a mistake. Forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning is a mistake. Looking your subordinate in the eye and ordering him to block your son so you could sleep with your mistress? That’s a character flaw. There is no cure for what you are."
"I am your husband!" he cried out desperately.
"Not anymore," I said.
May you like
I pushed the door shut, listening to the solid thud of the deadbolt sliding into place. Through the glass, I watched the man I used to love sink to his knees on the wet stone porch, burying his face in his hands. I turned off the porch light, leaving him in the dark, and walked back upstairs to check on my sleeping son.
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