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?
A Final Warning
Mr. Thompson wasn’t finished. He slowly turned to the last page of the file where a small yellow sticky note was attached. He pushed it toward David, his voice low but carrying the weight of a final judgment.
“This is the last message from my client. She said, ‘You should read this carefully before deciding whether or not to sign the divorce papers.'”
David’s trembling hand reached for the note. His bloodshot eyes read the words. The message was brief but powerful enough to make his knees buckle.
“Tax irregularities in the import contracts and the issuance of fraudulent invoices to embezzle company funds over the last 3 years. Out of respect for our marriage, I have temporarily withheld this from the official complaint.”
David dropped the note onto the dark wood table. The sound of paper hitting wood was unnervingly loud in the silent room. He slumped into his chair, his body going limp like a puppet with its strings cut.
He realized I held not only his fortune but also his reputation and his freedom. If that dark file reached the authorities, the price he would pay wasn’t just bankruptcy but years behind the cold walls of a federal prison.
For the past 3 years, as CFO, I had turned a blind eye to his questionable entertainment expenses, thinking it was just the cost of doing business. But I was prudent enough to save all the evidence just in case the ship ever hit a storm. I never thought I would use it against my own husband, but when he ruthlessly pushed me off a cliff, I had no choice but to turn that evidence into my final shield.
“What… what’s wrong with you, son?” Eleanor saw her son’s deathly pale face and frantically questioned him. “What did she write in there that has you so scared? Is she threatening you? Let me call and curse her out!”
She reached for the landline, but David stopped her, his voice breaking like the whimper of a wounded animal.
“Mom, don’t call. If you call, I’ll go to prison. She has me by the throat. She has all the company’s black books, Mom.”
Hearing the word “prison,” Eleanor felt as if her spine had been ripped out. She swayed, grabbing at the empty air before collapsing onto the chaise lounge. A stroke-like episode seized her, her face flushing a dangerous red as she gasped for breath.
For her entire life, she had schemed and saved, always boasting about her brilliant CEO son. Now the news that he could face prison all because of a foolish affair was too much to bear. David panicked, screaming for the housekeeper. The sound of running footsteps, shouts for an ambulance, and general chaos erupted, disturbing the quiet neighborhood street.
Mr. Thompson calmly packed his files back into his briefcase. He stood, adjusted his suit jacket, and spoke one last sentence before leaving.
“I will await your answer tomorrow morning. I hope you make a wise decision to preserve what little dignity you have left.”
Chaos at Headquarters
The next morning, the headquarters of the Anderson Corporation was in unprecedented chaos. By 7:00 a.m., the lobby was packed not with clients but with representatives from suppliers and anxious minority shareholders, all clamoring to see the CEO. News of the company’s frozen accounts had spread like wildfire, incinerating the last shred of partner confidence.
David appeared, his pathetic state impossible to hide despite his expensive suit. His eyes were dark and sunken, his face stubbled, his gaze darting around nervously. The moment he appeared, the crowd surged forward, surrounding him. Shouts and questions erupted.
“Mr. Anderson, why was our payment blocked by the bank?” “Our shipment has been stuck at the port for 3 days! If we don’t get our money, you don’t get your goods!” “Explain yourself! Is the company going bankrupt?”
David tried to yell over the noise to calm them down, sweat pouring down his forehead.
“Everyone, please be calm! It’s just a technical issue with the bank. I have the accounting department working on it. The funds will be transferred this afternoon. I give you my word of honor.”
“Your honor? How much is that worth?” A middle-aged man shouted. “We heard your wife froze all the assets. You can’t even handle your own house; how are you supposed to handle everyone else’s business?”
Just as the conference room devolved into a chaotic mess, the heavy oak doors were pushed open forcefully. A wave of cold, authoritative air swept in, silencing the clamoring crowd. The rhythmic, sharp click of high heels on the marble floor echoed like the gavel of fate.
I walked in. Today I wasn’t wearing the soft, submissive business dresses I usually wore. I had chosen a tailored charcoal gray pantsuit, sleek and sophisticated, conveying a sharp, cold elegance.
My long hair, usually worn down, was pulled back into a tight, neat bun, revealing a meticulously made-up face that concealed any trace of fatigue. I walked with my head held high, my gaze sweeping over the chaotic crowd without lingering on anyone, not even David.
David saw me, a flicker of hope in his eyes quickly replaced by anger. He thought I was there to make a scene, to start a fight, or beg him to take me back like some other weak woman. He strode toward me, intending to use his usual patriarchal authority to intimidate me.
“What are you doing here? This is a place of business, not your kitchen. Security, escort this person out!”
But no security guard dared to move. They stood pressed against the wall, bowing their heads in respect.
“Good morning, Miss Miller.”
Everyone in this company knew David was the figurehead, but for the past 3 years, I was the one truly at the helm. I looked at David, my expression calm to the point of indifference.
“No need for security. I know my way. And Mr. Anderson, I am not here as your wife. I am here as the Chief Financial Officer.”
