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

The transaction with Tiffany took less than an hour. Cash for a flash drive that contained the autopsy of Richard’s career. I sat in Arthur Vance’s mahogany-paneled office, the air conditioning chilling the sweat that had threatened to dampen my blouse. Arthur reviewed the files, his silver eyebrows climbing higher with every page.

"This is textbook embezzlement," Arthur murmured. "He's siphoned nearly eighty thousand dollars from his regional office to cover his personal debts. If they find out, he goes to prison."

"I don't want him in prison, Arthur," I said, staring at the polished wood grain. "Not yet. I want him to understand what it feels like to owe someone who has no mercy."

Arthur’s lips curled into a shark-like grin. "The company is struggling. If we approach them discreetly, offering to cover his debt in exchange for the assignment of his promissory note... you would become his primary creditor. Effectively, you would own him."

We wired the funds. By late afternoon, the legal transfer was complete.

Two hours later, Richard was reportedly at his 'Man Cave'—the climate-controlled storage unit where he hid his failures. My phone buzzed with a notification from the process server.

He had just been served. Not with divorce papers this time, but with a foreclosure notice on the contents of the unit—his vintage pinball machines, his 'investment' coins, and the car he supposedly leased through the company.

The text message from Richard arrived seconds later: YOU CAN'T DO THIS. THOSE ARE MY ASSETS.

I typed back slowly: Actually, they're collateral. And payment is due immediately.