My Husband And His Mistress Mocked Me In German To My Face. They Called Me A “walking Atm” And Planned My Replacement. They Didn’t Realize I Understood Every Word. What Should My First Move Be?
No Negotiations
I knew, as the CFO, I understood the company’s cash flow better than anyone, including David. I knew that tomorrow was the deadline to pay the letter of credit to our overseas partner. I knew that if the cash flow was blocked, the company’s reputation would crumble and the production line would grind to a halt.
But that was exactly what I wanted. If he could mercilessly use our hard-earned money to support his mistress, then I could mercilessly cut off his lifeline.
“That is your problem, not my client’s,” Mr. Thompson replied coldly. “My client is simply exercising her right to self-defense. If you hadn’t diverted assets to support a mistress, none of this would be happening.”
Hearing that the money was blocked, Eleanor’s face went pale. To her, money was life, it was status, it was everything. She trembled, pointing a finger at the lawyer.
“She… She dares? That girl from the countryside! She ate our food, lived in our house, and now she turns around and bites us? I have to find her. I’m going to tear her to pieces!”
“Calm down, Mom!” David shouted, panic finally setting in. He knew the power I held in the company, knew what information I possessed. He turned to the lawyer, his tone softening in a desperate attempt at reconciliation.
“Mr. Thompson, please tell Catherine married couples can work things out behind closed doors. Business is a serious matter; we shouldn’t let personal feelings interfere. Whatever she wants, I’ll give it to her. Just ask her to withdraw the petition.”
Mr. Thompson smiled a polite but pitying smile.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Anderson. My client said that once trust is broken, all negotiations are meaningless. She doesn’t need you to give her anything. She just wants to take back what is rightfully hers. And she wants you to see this.”
The Ledger of Lies
Mr. Thompson opened his briefcase again and pulled out another thick, black-bound file that looked like a ledger of death. He flipped through the pages, placing them in front of David and his mother.
It wasn’t dry legal text but a meticulous spreadsheet detailing every number, every date, every wire transfer.
“This is a list of Mr. Anderson’s unusual expenditures over the last three years, compiled by my client from financial statements and bank records.”
Mr. Thompson began to read, his voice as steady as a machine.
“On May 15th, a transfer of $150,000 to a luxury car dealership for the purchase of a Mercedes-Benz C300. The registered owner of the vehicle: Lisa Hayes.”
Eleanor gasped, the six-figure sums stunning her. She was still driving her old, outdated sedan, yet her son was buying luxury cars for his mistress.
“On June 20th, a transfer of $1.2 million. Payment for a luxury condominium in an upscale urban development. The name on the deed: Lisa Hayes.”
“On October 10th, a cash withdrawal of $50,000 for the purchase of diamond jewelry at Tiffany & Co.”
“On the 1st of this month, a transfer of $2 million into a blind trust. The beneficiary: Lisa Hayes.”
Each number announced was like a sledgehammer blow to Eleanor’s head. She trembled as she picked up the list, her eyes glued to the long string of figures. She was a greedy woman who valued money above all else.
She had tolerated her son’s affair because she wanted a grandson, assuming it would only cost a little pocket change for living expenses. She never imagined her darling boy would gut the family business, draining the family fortune to lavish it on an outsider.
“My God… three… half million? A total of over $3.5 million?” Eleanor mumbled, her voice faint with shock. “You… You’re insane, David! All that money, our family’s blood, sweat, and tears… you gave it all to that homewrecker? I thought you were just having a fling!”
The Tip of the Iceberg
David hung his head, unable to meet his mother’s gaze. He had thought he was being clever, using secondary accounts and shell companies to move the money so I would never find out. He forgot who I was.
Mr. Thompson looked at David, his gaze sharp enough to pierce through him.
“Mr. Anderson, have you forgotten who your wife is? She is a top-tier risk controller. She holds the financial lifeline of your company. Every move you make, every dollar you transfer, she knows exactly where it goes and why. She didn’t say anything not because she didn’t know, but because she was waiting. Waiting for today, for this abscess to burst so she could cut it out once and for all.”
“My client asked me to tell you,” Mr. Thompson lowered his voice, emphasizing each word, “she once considered you her husband, so she used her skills to protect your assets. But now that you consider her a stranger, those same skills have become the sharpest weapon to reclaim her justice. This ledger is only the tip of the iceberg.”
I could imagine David’s face at that moment, likely ashen and gray. He wasn’t just afraid of losing money; he was terrified of my intelligence and my depth. The wife he had always thought was meek and submissive turned out to be the most dangerous person when cornered.
As the figures amounting to tens of millions given away to a mistress were laid bare, the stately atmosphere of the family home became as suffocating as a tomb. David sat stunned, sweat soaking the collar of the expensive shirt I had meticulously ironed for him that very morning.
