The Beggar’s Throne

Chapter Four

Carl’s walkie-talkie buzzed as he called Amanda. She quickly showed up at the gate, annoyed. “Why’s he here?”

Jake leaned close to the gate, speaking quietly but firmly, looking at Carl. “Tell Amanda I’m not signing the divorce papers yet. I want to save our marriage.” It was a lie, but he said it anyway. 

He noticed Carl’s sympathetic look and hoped Amanda’s guilt would let him in. Carl passed on the message, Amanda sighed. “Fine, let him in. But keep an eye on him.”

The gate buzzed and opened. Carl grinned. “You’re pathetic, Jake. Good luck.” Jake nodded, looking defeated. 

Their insults only pushed him harder to follow his plan: take their abuse, get into their house, get what's rightfully his, and get his revenge.

He walked up the gravel path and saw Amanda at the mansion door, wearing a sharp navy dress, her eyes showing both pity and irritation. “You’re embarrassing me, Jake,” she said coldly, though her voice shook slightly. “You can stay in the guest room. Don’t touch anything.”

“Thanks, Amanda,” Jake mumbled, keeping his head down. His phone buzzed with a text from Lila: Holt’s at Pier 20, I'm Watching. Jake ignored it, focusing on the Carters. “I’d play the fool for now”.

As he dragged his feet toward the guest room, his sneakers scuffed against the mansion’s polished marble floors. The room they gave him was small, dusty, and far from where he needed to be. Useless. Richard’s study, full of locked files, was down the hall. Diane’s laptop, often left open in the foyer, was his best bet. He had to be nearby if he wanted to catch anything.

He spotted Amanda standing under the chandelier, in her sharp navy dress, he walked hurriedly to her.

"Amanda," he said, with a calm voice, "I can’t stay in that guest room. We’re still married—I should be near you.”

She looked at him with an annoyed expression, but for a brief moment, her face showed that she felt guilty.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Across from my room. But don’t get any ideas, Jake.”

He nodded and moved into the new room. It wasn’t much—peeling wallpaper, an old bed—but it was right across from Amanda and Ethan’s room.

The morning sun didn’t do Jake any favors, just casting a harsh light on his reality as Amanda knocked on his door, with a loud voice. “Get up, Jake! My Lamborghini’s a mess, and you’re at least good for cleaning it,” she snapped.

Out in the sticky Chicago morning heat, Jake scrubbed the sleek yellow car, sweat dripping into the soap suds while Greg lounged on the porch, smirking. “Nice work, carwash boy,” he taunted, enjoying the show. Amanda marched out, tossing a rag at Jake like he was nothing. “Done? Good. Drive me to the firm, but don’t you dare step foot in my Lambo—your raggedy clothes would ruin it, you won't enter one in your lifetime.

Take your beat-up Honda and follow me, but keep your distance. I don’t want that junk heap scratching my car.” Her words burned him but Jake just swallowed his pride and mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.” As he followed her roaring Lamborghini in his rattling old Honda, the wide gap between their cars was like a spotlight on his shame.

At Carter & Associates, Jake walked behind Amanda, holding her fancy briefcase. His old sneakers squeaked on the shiny floor, and the staffs around started whispering and staring—“There goes Amanda’s stray dog,” someone said.

Amanda didn’t care about the attention. She looked back and said, “Jake, wipe my desk. Your hands are already dirty, so you might as well use them.” A few paralegals laughed while he grabbed a cloth and started cleaning. Then she added loud enough for everyone to hear, “Be careful not to mess it up, you’re not used to handling expensive stuff.”

She shoved a stack of coffee-stained files into Jake’s arms. “Shred these,” she said sharply, “and don’t bother trying to read them—you wouldn’t understand anyway.” A nearby clerk laughed under their breath, “What is he now, her maid?” Amanda just smirked and said, “Exactly.”

Jake’s hands trembled as he pushed the papers into the shredder. Amanda let out a loud, annoyed sigh and said, “God, Jake, you’re embarrassing,” and that stung more than everyone laughing at him. Greg, lounging in a chair nearby, flicked a paperclip at him with a smirk. “Fetch, loser,” he said, grinning.

Jake’s stomach rumbled as he stepped into the dining room the next morning. The rich smell of bacon and eggs filled the air, making his hunger even worse. Diane, Amanda’s mother, looked at him her face like she was irritated.

“You don’t eat with us, Jake,” she snapped. “Sit on the floor.”

His cheeks burned with shame, but he said nothing, he sat on the cold marble floor with his knees tucked under him.

Amanda glanced over, her eyes full of something close to pity.

“You’re taking me to the market today,” she said. “So stuff something in your mouth and wait outside. Hurry up.”