He Served Me Divorce Papers On My Birthday, Not Knowing My Multi-Million Dollar Settlement Check Arrived That Morning

Richard sat paralyzed by his own recorded cruelty, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. I didn't wait for an explanation. I signaled the guard, stood up, and walked out into the bright afternoon sun. The air tasted cleaner, sharper.

But as I reached the heavy glass doors, a manicured hand slammed against the pane. Tiffany stood there, her heavily pregnant belly protruding from a tight leopards-print dress. She wasn't looking at Richard inside; she was staring at my new silk suit and the sleek black town car Vance had sent for me.

"You got the money," she said. It wasn't a question. Her eyes were calculating, stripping away the 'dumb blonde' facade Richard liked to believe in. "I saw the alert on his iPad before he changed the password. He thinks he's getting half."

"He's getting nothing," I said, stepping around her. "And neither are you."

She laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Honey, I don't want him. The man is drowning in debt. He's been using my credit cards to pay the minimums on his."

I paused, my hand on the car door handle. This was new information. Richard had always claimed to be the financial genius of the household.

"He's broke?" I asked.

"Worse," Tiffany smirked, stepping closer. "He's criminal. I found his 'second books.' He's been skimming from his sales accounts for years to pay for that storage unit full of unsold inventory he bought to fake his quotas. I made copies."

She held out a manicured hand, palm up. "For ten grand, I hand over the proof. You bury him, I get a fresh start away from his sweaty hands. Do we have a deal?"