Chapter 2
The affair felt insignificantly small compared to the financial documents resting in my hands.
The monthly transfers ranged from five thousand to ten thousand dollars each. They weren’t coming from the daily operating account I monitored, but from a strategic reserve fund we had set up years ago for emergencies and major vendor payments.
“She doesn’t make that kind of salary,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “And for months, she’s been telling me she sleeps at her parents’ house when she works late. I called them—it was a total lie.”
I took clear photos of every page and drove home.
When I walked through the front door, I heard drawers slamming upstairs. Ofelia was actively tearing through my bedroom. She had dumped my dresses on the floor, scattered file folders, and overturned a wooden box containing my father’s old keepsakes.
“What are you looking for?” I asked from the doorway.
She didn’t even have the grace to blush.
“Mark needs the security tokens and records for the reserve accounts. He has urgent vendor payments to make.”
“They aren’t here.”
She clicked her tongue in disgust. “No wonder my son got tired of you. When he needs you most, you hide the money.”
What she didn’t know was that I had already moved all master deeds, powers of attorney, and bank security hardware into a private safety deposit box weeks ago.
That evening, Mark came home nervous and fidgety. Before dinner finished, the doorbell rang.
It was Brenda.
She looked flawless again, claiming she had brought “urgent documents” for Mark to sign. Ofelia greeted her at the door like a long-lost daughter.
“Brenda, sweetie! It’s so wonderful how dedicated you are to my son’s business.”
Brenda sat at our dining table, sipping coffee while flashing me a patronizing smirk. “Laura has such a lovely talent for domestic work.”
Ofelia laughed out loud. Mark sat there and said nothing to defend me.
When Brenda stood up to leave, I noticed a luxury designer watch on her wrist—identical to a receipt for eighteen thousand dollars I had found in Mark’s coat pocket two days prior.
While clearing the table, I spotted a piece of paper tucked under Brenda’s chair: a receipt for a paid consultation with a law firm specializing in corporate bankruptcy and debt restructuring.
Brenda was receiving massive offshore transfers, wearing eighteen-thousand-dollar watches, and yet she was drowning in financial debt.
I immediately forwarded copies of the debt receipt to Andrew.
Later that night, Mark came home smelling of bourbon and left his phone on the living room table while he went to shower. The screen lit up.
Brenda: “If you don’t pay them tomorrow, I’m ruined.”
A second message flashed right after:
Brenda: “If you don’t have liquid cash, mortgage the house. Force Laura to sign.”
The air left my lungs.
Our home had been purchased largely with money inherited from my father, and the deed was held jointly in both Mark’s name and mine. Without my signature, no lender would touch it.
May you like
Then a third message appeared:
Brenda: “Ofelia already agreed. Once we push Laura out, we pay off my debt, make the down payment on your mother’s retirement villa, and start fresh in our new place.”
