Eleanor scanned the statements, her mind flashing back. “He said it was just a formality, that as his wife, I had to be a co-signer on some business deals. I trusted him, so I signed without reading. It’s clear now that most of the signatures were forged, but he got a few real ones out of me that way.”
Susan showed her another document. “And here’s the income statement he submitted to the bank for you. It says you work as a designer at his firm, making $150,000 a year.” Eleanor gave a bitter laugh. “I never worked a day at his company. He always said a wife’s place was in the home. So the income statement was fake, too.”
A middle-aged man in a dark coat entered the restaurant. It was Jack Riley, the private investigator Eleanor had hired a month ago. He sat down at their table and silently placed an envelope of photos on the table. “Just as you suspected,” he said quietly. “The affair has been going on for at least three years. He rents an apartment for her in a luxury high-rise in SouthPark, pays about four thousand a month.”
The photos showed Michael with a young blonde in various settings: restaurants, theaters, weekend trips. In some, they were kissing; in others, they were just walking arm-in-arm, looking like a happy couple. “The rent money is coming from the same account that received the loan funds,” the investigator added. “So he was keeping his girlfriend with your debt.”
Eleanor studied the photos with a stone-cold expression. Susan put a hand on her shoulder. “You knew all this time?” “I suspected. But suspecting is one thing. Seeing the proof is another.” The investigator produced several more documents.
“There are other interesting details. Ashley Crowder, 28. Works as a receptionist at a salon. No debts, but no significant income either.” “So she was counting on Michael to be her meal ticket,” Susan observed. The P.I. nodded. “Based on their text messages, which I managed to obtain, she’s been pushing him to get a divorce for a long time. She promised to marry him as soon as he was free.”
Eleanor put the photos back in her purse. “Well, now she’ll get what she wished for.” The investigator handed her another envelope. “Documents on the true financial state of your husband’s business. It’s not as rosy as he makes it out to be.”
Inside were records of unpaid invoices to suppliers, notices from the IRS, and overdue rent payments for his office space. “His company is only staying afloat because of the loans taken out in your name.” Susan examined the papers. “So without that $800,000, his business would have gone under long ago?”
The investigator confirmed it. “Exactly. He used your good credit to save his company. And now that the loans are due, he decided to get rid of his wife and leave her with the debt.” Eleanor listened, her hands clenched into fists under the table.
“One more thing,” the P.I. added. “Ashley doesn’t know about the debt. Michael convinced her that after the divorce, they’d be rich, move into your condo, maybe buy the lake house.” For the first time all day, Eleanor smiled. “Then she’s in for a surprise.”
The investigator gathered his papers. “If you need me to, I’m prepared to testify in court.” After he left, the two friends sat in silence. Susan finally broke it. “You really planned all of this, didn’t you?” Eleanor looked out the window as dusk settled over the city.
“I just studied the man I lived with for fifteen years. I knew he was greedy, arrogant, and thought I was stupid. I used those traits against him.” “And how did you find out about your father?” Susan was the only person Eleanor could confide in completely. “His doctors warned me about his condition a month ago. He asked to see me and told me the truth about Michael.”
“That’s when I started digging.” Eleanor finished her cold coffee. “My father wanted to help me, but he was afraid. Now, he’s helped me from beyond the grave.” Susan shook her head. “Michael has no idea what’s about to hit him.”
Eleanor stood up to leave. Tomorrow morning, the banks would be notified of the change in asset ownership, and the day after, they would demand repayment of the loans. She left cash on the table for the coffee and walked out. Justice is sometimes slow, but it always arrives.
The steakhouse was known for its prime cuts and high prices, making it the perfect place to celebrate a major victory. Michael had booked a table by the window overlooking the city skyline and had been savoring his win for two hours. A bottle of Dom Pérignon, costing over $500, bubbled in their glasses. And Ashley, in a new designer dress, looked particularly stunning.
She was seven years younger than Eleanor, with long blonde hair and a model’s figure. “I can’t believe it was that easy,” Ashley said, nibbling on an oyster. “We waited three years for this, and she just… gave you everything.” Michael smiled smugly as he cut into his filet mignon.
“I told you, Ellie’s weak. She lived under my roof for fifteen years; she barely knows how to use a debit card without my help.” He raised his glass. “To our new life, baby.” Ashley leaned in, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Tomorrow, we start renovating the condo. I’ve already found a designer. He’s going to do it all in a modern loft style. Fifty thousand should be enough to get started.”
Michael nodded, not even blinking at the amount. “Do whatever you want. It’s our home now.” He pictured his life with a beautiful young woman in the heart of the city, imagined the envy of his friends and business partners. “Are we going to sell the lake house?” Ashley asked, scrolling through furniture catalogs on her phone.
“I’m not really a country person. I’d rather we get a place in Miami.” Michael laughed. “Of course, we’ll sell it. We’ll sell off all the extra stuff and buy things that are more… us.” He felt like the king of the world, finally free of his boring wife and in possession of everything he’d ever wanted.
The waiter brought the check for over a thousand dollars. Michael casually handed over his credit card without a glance at the total. “Today’s a special day,” he explained to Ashley. “It’s not every day you get divorced and become a millionaire.” Ashley kissed him on the cheek. “You’re the smartest man I know.”
They left the restaurant arm-in-arm, planning to spend the night at the SouthPark apartment Michael rented for her. The morning started with a sharp ring from his phone at six-thirty. Michael sleepily reached for it, not recognizing the number. “Michael Miller?” a formal female voice asked. “This is the collections department at Bank of America.”
“You have a past-due balance of $300,000. We require immediate payment.” Michael sat bolt upright in bed, now wide awake. “What loan?
Comments are closed.