Chapter 7 - The Ghost of Market Street
Three weeks after the legal earthquake shook the Charleston business district, I drove my car into the city to oversee the physical transition of the downtown headquarters. The grand double doors of the building now bore a brand-new, gleaming bronze plaque: Vance Global Enterprises. As I stepped out into the crisp morning air, dressed in a sharp charcoal pantsuit, I noticed a familiar figure standing across the cobblestone street near a public parking meter.
It was Nathan.
He looked like a shadow of the arrogant tech tycoon he used to be. His expensive tailored suit was rumpled, his hair was graying visibly at the temples, and he clutched a cheap cardboard coffee cup in hands that trembled slightly. When he saw me step out of my car, surrounded by two of Marcus’s security associates, he froze. For a brief second, our eyes locked across the four-lane street.
Instead of hiding or looking away, I lifted my chin, adjusted my sunglasses, and walked past him with absolute, unyielding indifference—the exact same way he had walked past my emotional pain for eight agonizing months.
"Clara! Wait! Just five minutes!" Nathan called out, darting across the street despite the oncoming traffic.
My security detail instantly stepped forward, blocking his path before he could come within ten feet of me. Nathan stopped, holding up his hands in a pathetic gesture of surrender.
"Please, Clara," he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. "I just need to talk to you. The board... they threw me out. They locked me out of my own office. Victoria packed her bags and moved back to Atlanta the moment she realized my personal accounts were frozen. I have nothing left."
I turned slowly, looking down at the man who had once told me he wished I wasn't his wife. "You are speaking to the CEO of Vance Global Enterprises, Mr. Carter. If you have business inquiries, you must schedule an appointment through my corporate secretary."
"Don't do this, Clara," he sobbed softly, tears welling in his bloodshot eyes. "Ten years... we built this together from a cardboard box in a Savannah garage. How can you look at me and feel nothing?"
May you like
"Because the person who built that dream died the night you told me you wished I wasn't your wife," I answered steadily. "You didn't lose everything because of bad luck, Nathan. You lost everything because of your own arrogance. Enjoy your walk down Market Street."
Without waiting for his reply, I turned my back on him, walked up the grand marble steps of my building, and let the heavy glass doors close firmly behind me, shutting him out of my life for good.
