Brennan made no comment.

“You’re rich, so what? You’ve never had any hardships, so basically you’re spoiled, and I enabled you for four years. You didn’t need a wife, you needed a caretaker. I didn’t complain when you left me at home alone on Christmas two years in a row so you could windsurf with your buddies in Aruba. You basically ignored my parents and to this day don’t know my mom’s first name. And you had no reason to try in our marriage, so you just threw me out like the trash. I’ve got news for you, Brennan. I’m not who you thought I was.” I took a breath, then said, “I gave you four years and you gave me nothing in return.”

“Except a phenomenal lifestyle.”

“And the privilege of being Mrs. Brennan Moore.”

“Glad you finally get it.”

That arrogant smile cut into my soul.

I kept going. “You spent more on a massage table built into the bathroom than on my engagement ring. That should’ve given me an idea of what to expect when I married you. You told the judge you didn’t think I had ever shown any real emotion toward you. Well, be careful what you wish for. Now you’ll see all my emotions at once. All my well-earned anger and frustration, followed by relief and joy. Now you get to know what it feels like to be powerless.”

I think Marty could sense my anger, but he shocked me when, without any warning, he yanked the pistol from under his shirt, fumbled with it for a second, and then pointed it at Brennan’s groin. He held it steady in his hand as he brought his face up to look at my reaction.

I was at a loss. He’d moved so quickly I hadn’t expected it.

Marty was smiling.

Brennan staggered back half a step and said, “Jesus Christ, that’s my gun.”

Chapter 31

I felt like singing. Why not? I was back inside my house. For the moment I could forget the awkward fact that Marty was holding a gun on Brennan. We shuffled in through the foyer, then turned into Brennan’s den, where it was clear he’d been working. His computer screen was still showing active trades on the foreign stock exchanges, and he had papers laid out across his giant oak desk. The one I had found for him in a furniture shop in North Carolina. It was magnificent, with hardwood inlays and drawers that felt like they moved on air.

Brennan had been remarkably quiet up to this point, but he still had that self-assured, superior look on his face, even with Marty standing a few feet away pointing the gun at him. It was clear Brennan didn’t think we were going to hurt him. Obviously, we’d been drinking, and I’m sure Brennan just viewed it as another immature prank by a dull wife he thought he’d gotten rid of. But after a minute or so, he was tired of the game and anxious to get back to work.