Millions and Masterpieces: Chloe's Revenge

The Blackwoods had sent Chloe Lane divorce papers while she was still wearing a hospital bracelet. Three years later, a driver met her at Bellhaven International and called her Mrs. Blackwood. "It's Ms. Lane." He looked down at his dispatch screen. "I'm sorry. The booking profile—" "Needs updating." Chloe lifted her suitcase into the Valmere before he could take it. Maya had arranged the car. She would have a word with her about the booking name. Rain blurred the airport barriers. In the back seat, Chloe pulled off a glove and found grease smeared across its thumb. She had spent the flight rehearsing what to say if she saw Ethan tonight. None of it survived being called his wife. Her phone vibrated. The notification came from her private bank in Wrenford. STRUCTURAL TEXTILE LICENSING ESCROW RELEASE AUTHORIZED The final compliance hold had cleared. Her bank confirmed the transfer into her personal account. She scrolled down. TRANSFER COMPLETE: $40,000,000 Chloe stared at the screen. The payment covered a manufacturing license she had spent eleven months negotiating. Her patents remained hers; the buyer had paid for the right to use the construction method. She checked the receiving account twice, afraid she had opened the wrong one. Ethan had once called a fabric invoice irresponsible. She had spent the night before her flight expecting another delay from the bank. A laugh caught in her throat. It came out once, too loud for the quiet car. The driver cleared his throat. "Good news?" "Maybe." He smiled and returned his attention to traffic. Chloe sent Maya the screenshot. The response arrived at once. Maya: Do not buy anything until I get there. Chloe called Maya. The call failed before it rang, and she was absurdly relieved: she had no idea what to say about forty million dollars. The driver was asking for the hotel address. She gave him the wrong street, corrected it, and waited for Maya to finish typing. Maya: I'm serious. You are jet-lagged and emotionally compromised. Chloe: Define anything. Maya: No buildings. No companies. No buying Ethan's house just to change the locks. The driver joined traffic toward Central Borough. Chloe kept the bank confirmation open until another message covered it. Her phone buzzed against her thigh. Maya: Tell me you're not actually going tonight. Before Chloe could unlock the screen, another message appeared. Maya: Chloe. Then a third. Maya: The Blackwood Foundation's private donor reception. Ethan will be there. Victoria will be there because she can smell a camera from two boroughs away. Chloe typed with both thumbs. Chloe: That's why I'm going. The typing bubble appeared, vanished, and appeared again. Maya: That answer concerns me. Chloe: Bring safety pins. Maya: For the dress or the emotional breakdown? Chloe looked out at the rain. Chloe: We'll assess on arrival. Maya sent the Whitmore address. The dress waited in Chloe's suite; Maya had checked the booking and offered to meet her at the airport. Chloe had wanted an hour before anybody asked how she was. She had met Ethan at her Avelin graduate show. On their first date, he asked about the cut of a coat and listened through her entire explanation. After the wedding, she put her collection aside to help with one foundation benefit. There was always another benefit. Another week when his mother needed her. By the time Chloe found her unfinished jacket in a cupboard, the pins had rusted into its sleeve. The marriage ended on the night she started bleeding across the bathroom floor of their penthouse. She called Ethan six times. His assistant routed the calls to voicemail. On the last attempt, her hand shook too badly to keep the phone against her ear. She called an ambulance herself. At the hospital, a triage nurse crouched beside her chair and asked whether there was anyone they could contact. Chloe gave her Ethan's number. "My husband," Chloe whispered. "He's coming." She believed it until morning. The doctor told her she had lost the pregnancy. At noon, Ethan's corporate attorney brought a manila envelope. Chloe asked him to wait. Then she asked whether Ethan knew. She couldn't remember which question she'd asked first. The attorney wasn't authorized to discuss Mr. Blackwood's personal affairs. “I'm his wife. Who else is supposed to discuss them?” Chloe said. He offered his card. She knocked it onto the floor and immediately wanted him to pick it up, to stay, to do anything except leave her there. When he opened the door, she saw Ethan in the corridor, on his phone. She recognized his shoes first. “Ethan? Ethan, come here.” He turned toward her voice. The attorney stepped back into the doorway, blocking her view. “Mr. Blackwood will contact you through counsel,” he said. “Move,” she told the attorney. “Please move. He can hear me.” She was crying now, furious at herself for the please. She called Ethan again, louder, and waited for him to come inside. He didn't. The papers gave Chloe forty-eight hours to leave the Blackwood residence. She didn't sign them that afternoon. The attorney left the envelope anyway. When she returned from the hospital, the staff had packed her life into six boxes. Margaret Blackwood waited in the marble entrance hall, dressed in dove-grey cashmere. Her eyes touched Chloe's hospital bracelet, then moved away. "The family car will take you wherever you need to go," Margaret said. One box had been labeled STUDIO ITEMS, though half the sketchbooks inside belonged to Chloe's unfinished Avelin collection. "This is still my home." Margaret's mouth tightened. "The residence belongs to the Blackwood estate. The staff have instructions." “Then change the instructions.” Chloe heard how childish it sounded. “Call him. I live here. You know I live here.” Margaret said nothing, and Chloe repeated it as though she hadn't heard. She had been discharged two hours earlier. When she crouched to fix the loose tape on the studio box, her stomach hurt. Margaret glanced at the clock. "Where is my graduate collection?" The house manager hesitated. "Some materials were moved during the west-wing renovation." "Where?" "I'd have to check the inventory, ma'am." "Then check it." Her voice came out sharp enough to lift Margaret's eyebrows. The moment Chloe stood, dizziness sent her hand back to the box. Margaret took a step toward her. For one ridiculous second, Chloe thought the older woman might offer to help. Instead, Margaret called for the driver. That night, Chloe slept on Maya's sofa with the hospital bracelet still around her wrist. She woke before dawn and found Maya in the kitchen, eating cereal directly from the box. Chloe said she hated him. Then she asked whether he'd called. Maya put the cereal down. “No.” Chloe hated her for answering so quickly, and hated herself for asking. She stayed in the kitchen until Maya made toast neither of them wanted. The next afternoon, Chloe used the last of her personal savings to buy a one-way ticket to Wrenford. She left the hospital bracelet in Maya's bathroom bin. She didn't tell Maya. The Valmere braked near Eastmere Boulevard. Chloe opened her eyes. The dirty glove had twisted in her grip. She dropped it on the seat beside her. The manila envelope was in her suitcase now. Two weeks ago, she'd nearly thrown it out while packing. Instead, she'd finally read it again and found a section missing. Maya had obtained the court-filed copy. Chloe wanted photographs; Maya said the lawyer needed to compare the originals and discuss what to do next. They'd argued. Chloe had booked the flight anyway. The hospital copy lay in her suitcase. Maya had the missing pages at the hotel. She opened the bank confirmation. Forty million. She could still see the attorney's card falling beside her hospital bed. She remembered it more clearly than the number in front of her. She locked the screen. The car turned onto Crown Avenue South. Riverside Plaza appeared through the rain, all glass and expensive lighting. The Blackwood name glowed above the entrance. She remembered attending foundation meetings there, sitting through presentations about tenant satisfaction and capital improvements while Ethan answered emails beneath the table. Once, she had asked why the seventh-floor workshop couldn't get its heating repaired. Ethan told her building operations were complicated. She had accepted that answer, though the women working upstairs had kept their coats on beside the machines. She remembered how cold the handrail felt on the way out. The driver slowed for a red light. Chloe looked up at the tower again. Somewhere inside that building were the offices that had handled her divorce. The family trust had kept records there for years. She wondered whether Ethan had ever opened the agreement his attorney brought to the hospital. Maya called while the tower was still visible through the rear window. Chloe answered. "Before you say anything, I haven't bought a building." "Good. Because I need you at the hotel." "Is something wrong?" "Nina compared the copies. Four pages are missing from yours." Chloe straightened. "Four?" "One clause, two schedules, a signature page. I have them here." "Maya." "Please. Just come upstairs before you go to the reception." Chloe glanced at the Blackwood sign disappearing behind the car. "Is Ethan involved?" There was a pause. "I don't know yet." "What did those pages give me?" Chloe asked. "Riverside Plaza. The gift schedule names you. Bring the hospital copy." The driver turned the heating down. Chloe was looking back at the tower, trying to fit its height and lit windows to the thin envelope in her suitcase. She had carried those papers across an ocean, convinced they contained everything the family had left her. "Chloe?" "I have it." She ended the call and leaned forward. "The Whitmore. Straight there, please." At the next light, the tower disappeared behind a bus. Chloe pulled her suitcase closer to her knees. She wanted those four pages in front of her before she saw Ethan.