Chapter 2 - The Tactical Retreat
By the time Eric’s Uber pulled up to our driveway three hours later, the locks had already been changed.
I watched him from the second-story window. It was raining. He stood on the porch, furiously jiggling his key, then pounding on the heavy oak door.
"Open the door! Please! Let me explain!"
I didn't open the door. Instead, I pressed a button on my phone, activating the smart-home intercom system I had installed last year.
"The bags on the porch are yours," my voice echoed out of the speaker above his head.
Eric looked down. Three large, black trash bags sat next to the decorative planters. "Bags? What are you doing? This is my house too! I pay the mortgage!"
"Actually, Eric, you don't," I replied calmly, sipping a cup of chamomile tea. "Check the folder in the first bag."
I watched him tear open the plastic bag in the rain. He pulled out a manila envelope and opened it under the porch light.
For the last four months, while I was smiling through family dinners and ironing his shirts, I was also sitting with the best divorce attorneys in the state. I had hired forensic accountants. I knew every penny Eric had hidden. I knew about the joint account he opened with Natalie. I knew about the $40,000 he embezzled from his own company to buy her a sports car.
"What is this?" he yelled at the intercom, holding up a restraining order and a notice of eviction.
"The house is in the name of the LLC I formed before we got married, Eric. You signed the post-nuptial agreement three years ago when you started your business. Remember? You said it was to 'protect our assets in case your startup failed.' It protected my assets, alright."
"You planned this!" he screamed, kicking one of the bags. "You set me up!"
"I planned nothing. I just reacted to your treason."
His phone started ringing. He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and his shoulders slumped. I knew exactly who was calling.
"You might want to answer that," I told him over the intercom. "Your boss received an anonymous email tonight detailing the company funds you redirected to buy my sister a BMW. I imagine Monday morning will be rough."
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Eric fell to his knees on the wet concrete. The porch light cast long, pathetic shadows over him. He was a broken man.
I turned off the intercom, closed the curtains, and went to sleep. It was the best night of sleep I’d had in months.
