"I'm releasing it," I say. "Today."
"But the term isn't up. If you release it now, you lose your leverage. She could walk away and you'd have no recourse for the damages to?—"
"I don't care about the leverage, Arthur. Bring me the waiver. And I need a check."
"The charity donation?" Arthur asks, shifting gears. "The fifty thousand?"
"No," I say. "Scrap that. I need a new check."
"Okay..." Arthur says slowly. "Who is the payee?"
"Ever After, Inc."
"The plaintiff?" Arthur creates a choked sound. "Sir, if you pay her company directly, it's not a donation. It's income. It changes the entire nature of the settlement."
"I don't care. Make it out to Ever After, Inc."
"Fine. For fifty thousand?"
"Five hundred thousand."
The silence on the other end is absolute. "Sir? That's... half a million dollars."
"I know how math works. Make it five hundred thousand. And bring the waiver to my office. Now."
"Sir, are you hiring them? Are you settling? The tax implications?—"
"I'm setting her free," I say roughly. "Just do it."
I hang up.
I collapse into my chair, spinning it to face the window. The city sprawls out below me, a grid of concrete and ambition. It looks small from up here.
I pull my phone out. I open the security app.
I check the cottage camera.
It's empty. Ivy isn't there.
I switch to the exterior cam. She's by the pool. She's wearing a swimsuit and a hat, reading a book. She looks peaceful.
But then she lowers the book. She stares at the water. She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.
Is she crying?
I zoom in. The resolution is grainy, but the posture is unmistakable. It's the slump of defeat.
I hurt her. I hurt the only person who actually saw me.
Arthur arrives twenty minutes later, breathless, holding a manila envelope.
"The escrow file, sir. And the check."
I take the envelope. I rip it open.
There it is. The Waiver of Liability, signed by me weeks ago, waiting for this moment. And the check: Ever After, Inc.- $500,000.00.
This is it. The way out.
