My Husband Divorced Me While I Was Still Recovering From Donating My Kidney To His Mother. He Left Me With A $10,000 Check And A Mocking Smile. Little Does He Know, His Mom Never Actually Received My Organ. What Should I Do When He Finds Out Who Got It Instead?
The Trap is Set
The atmosphere at the Caldwell Textiles office was grim. Julian slammed the phone down in frustration.
“The bank rejected another credit extension!” he yelled at his terrified secretary. “Damn it, they said our debt ratio is in the red.”
Tiffany walked in without knocking. Her growing baby bump was visible under her tight dress, but her face was far from happy.
“Julian, my credit card was declined at Hermès,” Tiffany protested. “It was so embarrassing! I thought we were rich. Why is the limit maxed out?”
“Shut up, Tiffany! I have a headache,” Julian snapped. “Mom needs surgery for a new dialysis access port tomorrow. It costs $50,000. Our main supplier won’t ship materials because we’re two months behind on payments, and you’re thinking about a handbag?”
“Well, that’s your fault. We should have gotten a bigger settlement or something from that pathetic ex-wife of yours, or blackmailed that doctor,” Tiffany argued.
“Don’t mention that doctor!” Julian’s face paled. He was still traumatized by Mr. Chen’s implicit threats. Since the incident at the hospital, Julian hadn’t dared to find out what happened to Clara. To him, she was either dead or homeless under a bridge.
Suddenly, the intercom buzzed.
“Mr. Caldwell, there’s a special courier from the Sterling Group in the lobby with an invitation for you.”
Julian’s eyes widened. “The Sterling Group? Send him up quickly!”
A uniformed courier entered and handed over a blood-red velvet envelope with gold lettering. Julian opened it with trembling hands. It was an exclusive invitation to the Sterling Group’s annual investment gala at The Plaza Hotel, Saturday at 7:00 p.m. Tucked inside was a small card: “We hear Caldwell Textiles has potential. We invite you to present a business proposal to our new director handling investments in the textile sector.”
Julian felt like he had just won the lottery. His stressed face brightened instantly.
“Tiffany, look at this,” Julian exclaimed hysterically. “The Sterling Group, the number one conglomerate, is looking at us! If they invest, not only will our debts be cleared, we could expand overseas.”
Tiffany snatched the invitation, her eyes sparkling at the gold logo.
“Seriously? Does that mean we’ll be super rich again? More than rich—this is our ticket to the major leagues?”
Julian laughed, forgetting all his problems.
“Get your best dress ready. We have to look perfect on Saturday. We have to impress that investment director.”
They had no idea the invitation was not a ticket to heaven but a summons to judgment.
Across the city in a massive walk-in closet, Clara stood before a mirror. Dr. Vance, who now visited not as a doctor but as a friend—and perhaps more—stood in the doorway, mesmerized. Clara was wearing a midnight blue evening gown that elegantly hugged her form, revealing her graceful shoulders. Around her neck was a diamond necklace from Mr. Sterling, a graduation gift from her business training.
“Well?” Clara asked, turning.
“You look dangerous,” Dr. Vance commented honestly, smiling in admiration. “They won’t know what hit them.”
Clara touched the pendant of her necklace, her smile mysterious.
“Julian always said I had to prove I was part of the family,” Clara whispered. “Tonight, I’m going to show him the true meaning of family. A family that protects its own and destroys anyone who hurts its members.”
Clara picked up her clutch. Inside wasn’t powder or lipstick, but a flash drive containing asset data and evidence of Julian’s fraud, ready to be displayed on a giant screen if necessary.
“Let’s go, Doctor. The show is about to begin.”
The Grand Gala
The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel that night was a sea of luxury. A giant crystal chandelier cast light onto the diamond jewelry worn by the wives of tycoons and politicians. Soft jazz music mixed with the clinking of champagne glasses. Julian walked in with his chin high, Tiffany on his arm in a flashy red dress—too flashy for an event of this class, which favored subtle elegance. Julian felt confident; his rented tuxedo fit well, and his pocket was full of new business cards.
“Look at them,” Tiffany whispered, her eyes darting around the room. “That’s the owner of Asia Bank! And over there… oh my God, that’s the Secretary of Commerce! We’re really in the big leagues.”
“Calm down, honey. Don’t look so provincial,” Julian chided, though his own heart was pounding. “Remember our goal. We find the investment director from Vanguard Capital.”
“His name wasn’t on the invitation, but he’s the key to saving our company.”
They took drinks from a passing waiter and tried to mingle, but the response was cold. The business elite would give a polite nod and then turn their backs. The aura of new money and desperation radiating from Julian and Tiffany was palpable to the business predators in the room.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the main stage. Mr. Sterling, the legend who had been rumored to be on his deathbed, appeared at the podium in his wheelchair. He looked far healthier than the rumors suggested. The room erupted in applause.
“Good evening friends,” Mr. Sterling’s voice was deep and charismatic. “Many rumors said I was finished, but as you can see, I’m still here. And that is thanks to an angel who gave me a second chance.”
Mr. Sterling smiled, his eyes scanning the crowd until they stopped at one point—not on Julian, but past him.
“Tonight, I want to introduce the future face of the Sterling Group. The person I have entrusted to lead Vanguard Capital, our newest subsidiary which will inject funds into the nation’s creative and textile industries. Please welcome my daughter, Clara Sterling.”
The orchestra swelled. The velvet curtain beside the stage opened. Julian choked on his drink. The glass in Tiffany’s hands slipped, shattering on the marble floor and drawing the attention of those nearby, but Tiffany didn’t care. Her eyes were wide as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.
The woman descending the stage steps was breathtaking. She wore a midnight blue gown that perfectly draped her slender frame. Her hair was styled in a sleek bob, and her face was adorned with natural makeup that highlighted her strong features. It was Clara—the wife Julian had thrown away, the daughter-in-law Beatrice had insulted. But this Clara was different. She walked with a straight back, her gaze sweeping the room with dominance, not fear. She stood beside Mr. Sterling, took the microphone, and began to speak in fluent, measured English.
“Thank you, Conrad,” Clara’s clear voice resonated throughout the ballroom. “Our vision at Vanguard is to empower hidden potential. We are looking for partners who are honest, resilient, and have integrity.”
Julian felt his feet were nailed to the floor. Cold sweat trickled down his back.
“That can’t be Clara… the orphan? She… she’s using the Sterling name,” he stammered.
“She’s using the Sterling name!” Tiffany hissed, her face pale with envy and fear. “Julian, we have to go. She’s going to kill us.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Julian grabbed Tiffany’s arm, his cunning mind already spinning, overriding his shame. “This is an opportunity. She’s Clara, my wife! She must still have feelings for me. If she’s the one holding the purse strings, this will be even easier. She’s a weak woman, Tiffany. I know how to handle her.”
After her speech, Clara descended from the stage and was immediately surrounded by business leaders. Julian pulled Tiffany along, rudely pushing through the crowd.
“Clara!” Julian called out, his voice a little too loud.
Clara stopped. She turned slowly. The crowd parted. Clara looked at Julian and Tiffany. There was no anger in her eyes, no sadness, just a blank stare as if looking at strangers who had wandered into the wrong room.
“I’m sorry, Sir?” Clara tilted her head, feigning forgetfulness.
“Julian… it’s me, Julian, your husband. I mean, your ex-husband,” Julian stammered, his smile stiff. “And this is Tiffany. We were invited.”
“Ah,” Clara nodded curtly, as if just remembering the name of a long-gone maid. “Mr. Caldwell of Caldwell Textiles. I’ve read the proposal that reached my secretary’s desk. Drastically declining company performance, high debt ratio, and pending legal issues.”
Julian fell silent, his face turning red with public humiliation.
“But,” Clara continued, a thin, cold business smile on her lips, “Vanguard Capital is professional. We evaluate numbers, not the past. If you want to talk business, come to my office on Monday morning. Don’t bring personal matters.”
Clara turned, her gown swishing as she walked away escorted by Dr. Vance, who shot a sharp glare at Julian before leaving. Julian stood frozen. He had just been utterly dismissed, yet also given a sliver of hope.
“See?” Julian whispered to Tiffany, his breath ragged. “She still wants to see me. She still cares. We’re going to get that money.”
