I Played the King’s Game Then I Divorced Him Chapter 08

I Played the King’s Game Then I Divorced Him Chapter 08

Three years later, I saw the verdict for Jade Jenkins on the news.

Embezzlement, commercial espionage, and falsifying evidence-multiple crimes resulting in a seven-year prison sentence. Sean, as an accomplice, received a two-year suspended sentence and a $50,000 fine. He had to sell off the collectibles his father left him to pay the fine; supposedly, his father was so angry he didn’t speak to him for two hours on the phone.

The company went through a reshuffle, and the stock price actually rose.

The old guard on the board loved this kind of drama: the founder cleaning house, the PR stain scrubbed away, and the corporate image becoming perfectly pristine.

I became a hero in a sense, though no one knew I had spent ten minutes vomiting in a restroom.

Maya invited me for a coffee at a quiet little roastery on the outskirts of the city. She pressed a fresh pot of French press, then poured the first dark, aromatic cup

“Claire, you’ve changed,” she said.

“How?”

“You used to talk so much. Now you barely say a word all day.”

I set my tea cup on the table and lit a cigarette. I had quit for three years but picked it up again.

“I used to talk a lot because I thought someone was listening,” I said. “Now I realize that the person listening might not care, and the person who cares might not understand. It’s better to say nothing.”

She was silent for a while, then suddenly said: “Sean came to see me last week.”

My hand didn’t shake, but a length of ash fell.

“He wanted the backups of those chat logs. He said he was going to sue me for invasion of privacy.” Maya laughed. “I told him the original files were with the police, and I only had copies. Take them or leave them.”

“How did he react?”

“He cried,” she said. “It was ugly-uglier than when we had our graduation dinner.”

I nodded and said nothing.

It was very quiet outside the teahouse. A breeze occasionally rustled the bamboo. I remembered the day of the proposal; Sean had cried by the lake then too. He said, “I’ll treat you right for the rest of my life.” I slipped the ring onto his finger and felt that it was forever.

“Forever” is a liar.

“Maya,” I said, “why do people change?”

“People don’t change,” she put down her cup. “The mask just falls off.”