I sold my business for $45 million. I ran to my husband’s office to tell him. When I arrived, I h…
The $45 Million Call and the Office Secret
I sold my antique business for $45 million after 40 years of work. Every early morning and late night, every weekend spent at estate sales, every item I carefully restored with my own hands—it had all finally paid off.
The buyers, a luxury retail conglomerate from New York, had been courting me for two years, but I’d held firm. This was my baby.
I’d started it in 1984 with just $2,000 and a dream, working out of a small storefront in Charleston, South Carolina, while my husband Robert finished his accounting degree.
But now, at 62, my back hurt from lifting furniture, my eyes strained from examining hallmarks and signatures, and I was ready. Ready to rest, ready to travel, ready to finally enjoy the life Robert and I had been putting off for decades.
The lawyer called me at 9:47 a.m. on a Tuesday.
“Mrs. Miller, the wire transfer has cleared. $45 million is now in your account”
My hands trembled as I hung up. Forty-five million.
I sat in my small office at the back of the shop, surrounded by Victorian chairs and Depression glass, and I cried. Not sad tears—happy ones.
Robert and I could finally do everything we dreamed about. The villa in Tuscany we talked about renting for a month, the cruise through the Greek islands, paying off our daughter Christina’s medical school loans, setting up trust funds for our three grandchildren.
I had to tell Robert right now; I couldn’t wait until he got home from work at six. This was too big, too wonderful.
We’d built this life together, and he deserved to share this moment. I grabbed my purse, the one Robert had given me for our 35th anniversary—real leather with my initials embossed in gold.
Inside, I tucked the folder with all the sale documents. I wanted him to see everything, to hold the papers in his hands and know it was real.
The drive to his office took 23 minutes. Robert worked at Henderson and Associates, a mid-sized accounting firm downtown where he’d been a partner for the past 18 years.
I’d only been to his office a handful of times over the years. He liked to keep work and home separate, he always said; I respected that.
I parked in the visitor lot and practically ran through the glass doors. The receptionist, a young woman named Ashley whom I’d met at the company Christmas party, looked up with surprise.
“Mrs. Miller, what a lovely surprise. Are you here to see Mr. Miller?”
“Yes, is he available? I have wonderful news”
She glanced at her computer screen and something flickered across her face: hesitation.
“He’s in his office. Let me just buzz him”
“Oh, don’t bother, I’ll surprise him”
I said, already heading toward the hallway. I knew his office was on the second floor, corner window overlooking the old courthouse.
“Mrs. Miller, wait, I should…”
But I was already at the elevator, my heart pounding with excitement. Forty-five million dollars; our whole world was about to change.
The elevator dinged. Second floor. I turned left, counting the doors like I remembered.
Third door on the right, brass nameplate reading “Robert Miller, CPA.” I reached for the handle, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt, and then I heard it.
Laughter—a woman’s laughter, light and intimate, coming from inside Robert’s office. My hand froze on the doorknob.
“Robert, you’re terrible”
The woman’s voice said, playful and affectionate.
“Am I?”
My husband’s voice, lower than usual, almost a purr.
“You didn’t seem to think so an hour ago”
An hour ago. I looked at my watch: 10:15 a.m..
My mind went blank. White noise filled my ears.
The documents in my purse suddenly felt like they weighed 1,000 pounds. I should have knocked, I should have walked away, I should have done a hundred different things.
Instead, I opened the door. Robert stood by the window, his tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up.
Next to him, close enough that their shoulders touched, stood Melissa Crane. I knew her; of course I knew her.
She was the firm’s marketing director, 42 years old, divorced, blonde hair always perfectly styled. She’d been at every company event for the past five years.
I’d made small talk with her about her son’s baseball team; I’d complimented her shoes. They both turned, and the color drained from Robert’s face.
“Dorothy,”
He stammered.
“What are you—I didn’t know you were coming”
Melissa took a small step back, but not far enough, not nearly far enough.
“I wanted to surprise you,”
I heard myself say. My voice sounded strange, distant.
“I have news”
Robert’s eyes darted to Melissa, then back to me.
“This isn’t… we were just reviewing the quarterly projections”
I looked at the conference table. No papers, no laptop open, just two coffee cups sitting side by side.
“The quarterly projections,”
I repeated slowly.
“Dorothy, let me explain”
Explain what exactly? The folder in my purse felt like it was burning through the leather.
Forty-five million dollars; the sum echoed in my head, suddenly taking on a different meaning.
“I should go,”
Melissa said quickly, grabbing her phone from Robert’s desk as she passed me. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Miller”
The door clicked shut behind her. Robert and I stood there, 10 feet apart, 37 years of marriage hanging in the air between us.
“How long?”
I asked.
“Dorothy, please”
“How long, Robert?”
He sank into his desk chair, suddenly looking every one of his 64 years.
“Three years”
