I Took My Wife To A Party. She Left With Another Man Because He’s Rich. He Threw A Dollar Bill On…

“She’s got authorization on the card for client entertainment, business dinners, that kind of thing. Her job involves wining and dining clients sometimes, so I added her as an authorized user years ago. Seemed logical at the time.”

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Clara said, and she sounded genuinely excited. “I love it when spouses forget that business accounts have different rules than personal accounts. Misuse of business funds, potential tax implications, possible fraud if she’s been claiming personal expenses as business deductions. Mr. Holt—Darren—I’m going to need access to all your business accounts, credit card statements, expense reports, everything.”

I gave her the login credentials for my business banking, watched her eyes light up even brighter as she started pulling up statements and downloading files. Jack poured us all more coffee while Clara worked her magic, muttering to herself about expense categories and merchant codes like she was speaking a foreign language. After about 20 minutes of clicking and typing, Clara looked up with the expression of someone who just found buried treasure.

“Darren, when was the last time you actually reviewed your business credit card statements?”

“I mean, I look at the totals every month. Make sure nothing’s wildly off. Why?”

“Because your wife has been very busy with your money.”

Clara turned her laptop around to show me a spreadsheet that made my head hurt.

“In the last six months alone, she’s charged over $40,000 to your business account. Hotels, restaurants, spa days, shopping. There’s a charge here for Victoria’s Secret for $600. Is that a legitimate business expense for building smokers?”

My stomach dropped.

“$40,000? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Look at this. The Belgrave Grand Hotel appears 11 times in the last four months. Always on Friday or Saturday nights. Charges ranging from $300 to $600 per stay. That’s not business travel, Darren. That’s an affair hotel.”

Clara scrolled through more charges, each one feeling like a punch to the gut.

“Here’s $1,000 at Fleming’s Steakhouse. Two grand at a spa resort in Gatlinburg. Multiple charges at liquor stores, wine shops, expensive restaurants. She’s been living very well on your dime.”

“Can we use this?” I asked Jack, feeling rage and vindication fighting for dominance in my chest.

“Oh, we’re going to use the hell out of this,” Jack said, grinning like a shark that just smelled blood. “Misuse of business funds, potentially affecting your tax liability, demonstrating a pattern of deception. This destroys her claim that she deserves spousal support. You can’t claim you need money while you’re out here spending 40 grand on hotels and steak dinners.”

Clara kept typing, kept digging, and I could see her getting more excited with each discovery.

“She’s been transferring money, too. Look at this. Regular transfers from your joint account to another account. 2,000 here, 1,500 there, three grand last month. Always going to the same place.”

She pulled up the transfer details.

“Account holder is listed as GC Enterprises, LLC.”

“GC,” I repeated, feeling something click in my brain. “Gavin Cross. She’s been funding her boyfriend with our money.”

“Allegedly,” Jack said. “Because lawyers always have to say allegedly even when something is obvious as hell. But yes, probably.”

“Clara, can you trace that LLC?”

“Already on it,” Clara said, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. “GC Enterprises, registered in Tennessee six months ago. Principal owner, Gavin Cross. Business purpose listed as ‘consulting services.’ What a joke. This is clearly a pass-through for personal income.”

We sat there for a minute, letting it all sink in. Miranda hadn’t just cheated on me; she’d been systematically looting our finances to fund her affair, using my business accounts like her personal piggy bank and transferring money to her boyfriend’s shell company. The audacity was almost impressive.

The Boss Behind the Signature

Then Jack looked at me across the table with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“Darren, I need to ask you something. This Gavin Cross guy—where does he work?”

“Some tech company. Miranda mentioned it a few times. Something with outdoor products or innovations or something. Why?”

Jack’s grin got even wider.

“What’s the full name of your business? The legal entity name, not just Holt Custom Smokers.”

“Holt Custom Smokers and Outdoor Innovations, LLC. I bought out a smaller competitor five years ago, kept them running as a subsidiary. They make fire pits, outdoor grills, that kind of thing. Different market than my custom smokers. Why are you—”

Jack started laughing. Not a polite chuckle, but a full-blown throw-your-head-back laugh that made Clara look up from her laptop in confusion.

“Darren, what’s the name of that subsidiary?”

“Crossfire Outdoor Innovations. I kept the name because they had good brand recognition. We operate it separately—different management team, different facilities. It’s profitable, though. Why are you—”

I stopped mid-sentence as my brain finally caught up with what Jack was implying.

“No. No way.”

“Yes way,” Jack said, still laughing. “Clara, pull up the corporate registration for Crossfire Outdoor Innovations.”

She typed, clicked, and then her jaw dropped.

“Parent company, Holt Custom Smokers and Outdoor Innovations, LLC. Owner, Darren Holt.”

“Holy—I need to see the employee roster,” I said, my voice coming out weird and strangled. “Pull up Crossfire’s payroll.”

Clara navigated to my business accounting software, accessed the subsidiary’s payroll system, and there it was in black and white:

Gavin Cross Senior Marketing Director, Crossfire Outdoor Innovations Salary: $95,000 a year Reporting structure: Ultimately reports to me.

The guy threw a dollar bill at his boss. The guy who’d been sleeping with my wife, using my money to fund his lifestyle, smirking at me at that party like I was beneath him—that guy cashed a paycheck with my signature on it every two weeks. My laughter could have registered on the Richter scale.

It started as a chuckle, built into a roar, and ended with me wiping tears from my eyes while Jack and Clara stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had, but this was the most beautiful twist of fate I’d ever witnessed.

“This is going to be beautiful,” I finally managed to say. “This is going to be so goddamn beautiful.”

Jack was already making notes, his eyes gleaming with predatory joy.

“Darren, my friend. We’re not just winning this divorce. We’re going to make legal history.”