Still, I continued, my voice steady. “Does the great Faye Ellison really think her husband is so patient that he’d just sit there while another man shows up at his door?”
I flicked my lighter, igniting my cigar, the flame winking in the dim light. “Ms. Ellison, you need to understand this—after all these years of scraping and clawing through the Upper Circle, I bled right there beside you. And now, putting some pretty nobody up against me? Either you’re out of your mind, or he is.”
I slid another copy of the papers across the table, smoke curling behind my words.
“This is your last chance.”
The moon cast a cold light on the marble, but it didn't soften anything. We looked at each other in the dim glow; the moon reflected off my prosthetic limb, cold and shiny.
I spoke plainly, laying it all out. “From the start, you helped me take down my stepmother and storm the Smiths’ house for me. I lost a leg for you and bled for you. Faye, let’s part clean. No debts. No claims. That is the best way for both of us.”
“The best outcome…”
Faye’s soft laugh echoed in the dark.
She picked up the divorce papers.