BEYOND THE FACADE

The polished marble floors of Henderson & Associates reflected the afternoon sun, an obvious contrast to the storm brewing within Melinda. Her hand firmly clutched her purse, knuckles white, as the elevator ascended, each floor a ticking moment closer to salvation or further heartache, as the case was going to be. Brenda, the receptionist, a commiserating smile on her face, welcomed Melinda as she stumbled out.

"Mrs. Melinda Sterling, Mr. Henderson is waiting for you," Brenda said softly, noticing the paleness of Melinda's face. "Go in."

Melinda nodded, a silent thank you, and pushed open the solid oak door to Mr. Henderson's office. The room, which smelled of old books and leather, usually had a soothing effect, but today it was a pressure cooker. Mr. Henderson, a man in his late-fifties with kind eyes and a distinguished grey temple, rose from behind his huge mahogany desk.

"Melinda, sit down, please," he said, gesturing to the plush armchair opposite him. His voice was a warm comfort to her raw nerves. "What on earth just happened? You were beside yourself on the phone."

Melinda sank into the chair, the exhaustion of the last hour descending upon her like a vice. She took a deep, trembling breath, trying to get hold of herself, but the words still tumbled out in a raw, hurt whisper. "Mr. Henderson… It's Ethan. And Sage. They're...they're trying to kill me."

The casual look on Mr. Henderson's face faltered, replaced by a look of disbelief and then alarm. He leaned forward, eyes intent. "Melinda, what do you mean? Are you in impending danger?"

She shook her head, tears finally building and spilling hot tracks down her cheeks. "I overheard them. In Ethan's office. They were talking… about an 'accident.' About the life insurance policy." The words were poison in her mouth. "He's the sole beneficiary, Mr. Henderson. They're going to make it look like a breakdown from stress, a tragedy."

Mr. Henderson's expression grew more somber with each new development he heard. He was an attorney and a logical man, but the cold facts Melinda presented to him painted a picture of calculating evil that was hard for even him to swallow. "Melinda, this is a very serious accusation. Do you have any evidence, anything concrete?"

"Just what I overheard," she conceded, scrubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "But I overheard more than enough. The fabricated affair, the eviction, the destruction of my business… it was all designed to cut me off, to make it believable." Her voice hardened, a steel glint replacing the raw fear. "I need to remove him as my beneficiary, Mr. Henderson. Now. Before it's too late."

He nodded, a sharp, definite movement. "Good. At least that's a reliable way out for starters. It will remove their motive, or at least significantly lessen it. Do you have the policy details with you?"

Melinda dug into her handbag, pulling out a folded document. "Yes, I brought it just in case." She pushed it across the desk. "It's a sizable policy, Mr. Henderson. Enough to make me a target."

He read the paper, his eyebrows furrowing. "Yes, it is. We can initiate the change immediately. It will take some time for the paperwork to go through, but once the request is made, it'd be on record." He paused, regarding her with fresh concern. "Not to be intrusive, but will you be alright to go home tonight?"

"No," she said, the word a forceful exhalation. "I can't go back there. I need to disappear. At least for a while."

A new thought, one she had momentarily forgotten in her upset, arose. "There's something else, Mr. Henderson. Something I was going to tell you today, before all this. My grandmother left me a quite substantial inheritance when she passed away six months ago."

Mr. Henderson's eyebrows rose slightly. "I wasn't aware. She was a private woman."

"Very," Melinda confirmed. "She left me a trust, quite a bit of money. I was going to transfer it into a joint account with Ethan for our anniversary, as a surprise." She shuddered, the irony bitter in her mouth. "Thank God I overheard them. If I had transferred it, he would have had access to all of it."

"It's a relief you didn't." Mr. Henderson said, his voice grave. "That was one very fortunate break, Melinda. We need to clinch that inheritance immediately. We'll establish a new, special account in your name, fully protected, with no access for Ethan." 

"And the house," Melinda went on, remembering the little cottage in the country. "My grandmother also left me her cottage. It's paid off. Ethan doesn't even know about it. It was going to be an anniversary gift, a quiet retreat." She gave a humorless laugh. "He won't be getting a quiet retreat; he's planning my last one."

"That cottage is a valuable asset, Melinda," Mr. Henderson said, a hint of strategic planning seeping into his tone. "It's a hidey-hole, somewhere he won't suspect to find you. We'll have to get that title absolutely free, and look into putting in some security systems."

"I want to go there," Melinda said, becoming more resolute. "But first, I need to get out of New York. I need to go somewhere he'd never think to look." A plan, desperate and wild, began forming in her head. "Las Vegas."

Mr. Henderson didn't bat an eye. He'd dealt with enough desperate clients to know that sometimes drastic measures were necessary. "Las Vegas it is. We'll get you a flight under an assumed name, just to be on the safe side. I can also help you get a new identity if you find you need that further down the line."

"Not yet," Melinda said, a new glint in her eyes. "Not yet. I must be Melinda Sterling if I'm to accomplish what I must." Fear was still a cold knot in her stomach, but a new emotion was beginning to surface: vengeance. "Ethan and I are architects, Mr. Henderson. We built Sterling & Associates together. He thinks he's going to ruin me? I'm going to ruin him. I'm going to start my own architecture firm. And I'm going to take everything from him."

Mr. Henderson observed her, a faint smile on his lips. He did not see just a scared woman, but a woman tempered by fire and ready to fight back. "A dangerous move, Melinda. Not impossible, however. You have an excellent reputation in the business. Starting a new business, especially with a solid financial backing of your inheritance, is a viable alternative. We can explore all the legal avenues to get your business protected and provide you with any advantage over Ethan."

"I must make him lose everything," she repeated, low and intense. "His business, his fortune, his reputation. Everything."

"We will explore every legal recourse to that end, Melinda," Mr. Henderson assured her. "Divorce proceedings, division of property, challenging the validity of any prenuptial agreements if they do, in fact, exist – we will leave no stone unturned. We will also need to consider your safety during the process. This is not just a fight about money; it's a fight about your personal safety."

"I understand," said Melinda, rising from the chair, a renewed determination in her stride. "I'll make my arrangements immediately. Can you set the process in motion for the life insurance, and getting my inheritance, and looking into the safety of the cottage, all with all due haste?"

"Consider it done," Mr. Henderson replied, already reaching for his phone. "I'll also have one of my partners develop a preliminary strategy for your new architectural business. Start compiling all your contacts, your portfolio, everything that will give you a head start. And Melinda," he continued, his voice serious, "be careful. Don't, under any circumstances, allow Ethan or Sage to know you suspect anything.”

Melinda nodded, icy determination descending on her. "They won't. They think I'm broken. They think I'm going to disappear. They have no clue what's coming for them.And lest I forget, please do well to send detailed information about my net worth to my email, I need to plan how things will get done”.

The next several hours were a blur of frenetic activity. Melinda returned to her apartment, forcing herself to maintain a facade of heartbreak, allowing Ethan to "console" her in a way that now made her skin crawl. She feigned fatigue, claiming she had to lie down, which gave her the perfect excuse to return to their bedroom. There, out of his inquisitive gaze, she began to pack very discreetly. Not everything that belonged to her, just the essentials: clothes, her laptop computer, some treasured photos. She systematically gathered all the financial documents she could find, and any documents relating to her business with Sterling & Associates that could be useful in the future. She even picked up a small, ornamental jewelry box that had belonged to her grandmother, which also contained a few sentimental items and, she recalled, a spare key to the cottage.

She booked a flight to Las Vegas at the eleventh hour on a somewhat different version of her maiden name, which she charged to a credit card that was not a part of any of the shared accounts with Ethan. Her usually cautious mind was a whirlwind of strategic planning now. She called a high-quality courier service to pick up a sealed envelope of documents from a publicly rented locker she leased right away, addressed to Mr. Henderson's office – a precautionary measure.

As night approached, she told Ethan that she was going for a walk, needing air and a moment to herself. She left the apartment, her heart pounding a fierce rhythm, but this time it wasn't fear. It was a rhythm of defiance. She hailed a cab, not towards her old life, but towards a new, uncertain future.

The taxi dropped her off a number of blocks from a less busy, quieter airport terminal. She had a single carry-on bag with her, leaving behind the world of luxury she had shared with Ethan. The irony wasn't lost on her – the man who'd promised her the world was now attempting to kill her.

At the gate, while waiting to board, Melinda pulled out her phone. She looked at Ethan's contact, her finger resting on the delete button. No. Not yet. She wanted him to believe she was still in the game, still dropping into his trap. The 'accident' would occur, but it wouldn't be hers.

As she sat at the departure lounge, the dazzling lights of New York City dropped away, a glittering tapestry of deceit and broken dreams. Melinda stared blankly at nothing in particular, the image of Ethan's cold, calculating face and Sage's sickening laugh branded into her mind. The fear was still a dull ache, but it was overshadowed now by a burning, churning determination.

Las Vegas. The city of second chances, of reinvention, of high stakes. She imagined how she would build a new life there, an empire of her own creation. And when the time was right, she would return, not as Melinda Sterling, the broken wife, but as Melinda Sterling, the architect of his downfall. The game had begun, and she was playing to win. She closed her eyes, picturing her grandmother's cottage, a sanctuary that was waiting for her. She now had a sanctuary, a fortune amassed, and a hunger for justice. Ethan and Sage had made the mistake of underestimating her.