Wasn’t she trying to inflict pain? Did Andrew deserve mercy? Or… She pushed the doubts away. Her plan required meticulous preparation.
The law office of Sarah Connolly was in an old, converted factory building. Creaky hardwood floors, the smell of old books and coffee. A friend from college, now the best divorce lawyer in town after her own spectacular split.
“Saw you at the hospital the other day,” Sarah said, giving Eleanor a tight hug. She smelled of citrus perfume. “You look like hell, but you’re holding it together.”
“Andrew is cheating on me,” Eleanor said without preamble, sinking into a cold, cracked leather armchair. “He wants a divorce and plans to take the business.”
Sarah whistled, looking through the documents Eleanor had brought. The rustle of paper mixed with the ticking of an old wall clock.
“Classic. Mid-life crisis, younger woman, plans for a new life funded by the old one,” she said, raising an eyebrow and tapping a pen on her desk. “But there’s good news. The company is legally in your name.”
“What?” Eleanor leaned forward, the leather creaking.
“When you started out, you insisted on it, remember?” Sarah showed her the yellowed incorporation papers. “Smart move. Your inheritance, your company. He’s just the managing director.”
Eleanor stared at the papers, remembering: fifteen years ago, signing documents, the lawyer suggesting she be the sole owner, Andrew waving it off: “What’s the difference? We’re family.”
“He’s definitely moving assets,” Sarah said, closing the folder with a snap. “We need an audit. Immediately.”
“I have something,” Eleanor said, pulling out her phone, her fingers trembling slightly. “Found this on his computer. A new LLC, registered three months ago.”
“Right when the affair started,” Sarah nodded, peering at the screen. “How did you get this?”
“In a hospital, hacking into systems is the first thing you learn,” Eleanor managed a weak smile, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion. “He hasn’t changed his computer password since our wedding day.”
Sarah quickly scanned the files, making notes. The scratching of her pen seemed deafening in the quiet office.
“This is exactly what we need,” she said, her lips tightening. “The assets are being funneled through fake purchase orders. Now I see why the girlfriend is head of PR. The major payments are going through her department.”
“What do I do?” Eleanor’s voice trembled, and she hated herself for the weakness.
“Nothing,” Sarah said, putting the documents back in the folder. “Act normal. Have your little dinner party. I’ll prepare a fraud complaint. If we move now, he’ll have time to hide everything. We need to pick the right moment.”
Eleanor met her brother at his house on the edge of town. The porch swing creaked. The air smelled of damp earth after the rain. Mike listened to her story in silence, the muscles in his jaw working.
“I’ll find that son of a bitch, and I’ll…” he started, clenching his fists until his knuckles were white.
“No,” Eleanor cut him off firmly, though she felt a warmth spread through her at his protective anger. “I’ll handle this.”
They sat on the porch. The tea in their mugs had long gone cold. Mike studied his sister as if seeing her for the first time.
“You sure you can do this?” he asked finally, his voice full of concern.
Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment. Her hands were shaking, and her chest ached with betrayal. Could she do this? Would she break at the last minute?
“I have a plan,” she finally nodded, pushing past the moment of weakness. “I’m going to take back what’s mine. And leave them with a very bitter taste in their mouths.”
“Mom would be proud of you,” Mike said unexpectedly, looking out at the yard. “She never forgave betrayal either.”
Eleanor flinched. A lump formed in her throat: the memory of her mother, who had left her father after his affair, always with dignity, without tears or hysterics. Was history repeating itself?
“I’ll be there at that dinner,” her brother said, squeezing her cold fingers. “Just in case he loses his temper.”
“Okay,” she agreed, grateful for his support. “But you’re just a guest. No heroics.”
At home, Andrew was clearly preparing for a serious talk. Eleanor watched him rehearse in front of the bathroom mirror, not realizing the door was ajar. The sound of running water masked her footsteps.
“Ellie, we need to discuss the future of the company,” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “It’s our joint business. We need a fair split.”
She backed away from the door, pressing a hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding. “Not ours anymore,” she thought, trying to still the trembling in her knees.
Over dinner, the clinking of forks and knives broke the heavy silence. Andrew finally spoke, avoiding her gaze.
“About this Saturday…” he began, nervously tapping his fingers on the table. “Are you serious about inviting everyone? Why put on a show?”
Eleanor slowly chewed her food, which tasted like cardboard.
“Not a show, a proper ending,” she replied, serving herself some salad. The crisp lettuce was a welcome distraction. “Fifteen years deserves at least that.”
“And… are you…” he stammered, his fork clattering against his plate. “Are you inviting Vicky?”
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