"You called my friend and told him we wanted a divorce?"
"No. I said I wanted it. But yes," she said with a shrug,
unafraid, "that's what I did."
"How dare you contact my lawyer when I knew nothing of this! Are
you crazy?"
"Why, yes, darling. That's exactly what I am, crazy. Driven mad
by Mr. Chips. At least that's what I'm ready to tell the court,
if I decide I'd like more than half. In fact, I think I need to
lie down, I'm feeling sort of suicidal again. All the stress I've
been under since this happened." She stuck her four-fingered hand
out at him.
He smacked it away. "I'll fight you on this, Greta."
"Try. You'll only make matters worse for yourself," she said,
kicking the newspapers. "It doesn't matter what they might say
about me in the papers. But you, my dear - you better think twice
before you make your next move, or it's going to cost you a hell
of a lot more than you can afford."
It was true. The press would turn this kind of thing into a
circus. He had seen this expression on her face before, this same
expression he had once found so alluring, so sure and empowering,
so certain of his success, their success. When working on his
behalf, this look had once charged him with excitement,
confidence. Now he saw the face of his opponent from across the
ring, and she looked fanatical in the way she said she was - in
the way she would convince the court she was, and possibly all
but wipe him out.
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