My Wife Of 26 Years Framed Me To Die In Prison. I Found Her Secret Stash In Our Basement And Realized She’s Working With A Serial Conman. Now, I’m Planning A Date Night She’ll Never Forget. How Should I Execute My Revenge?
Justice in the Courtroom
Twenty minutes later, Vernon and Silas showed up. Then Sloan Mitchell arrived with her mother, Susan.
The woman who’d helped Damian destroy her own husband. We sat around my kitchen table.
Six people, a laptop, and a USB drive that could bring down a predator.
“So,”
Vernon said.
“What’s the plan?”
I looked around the table. At Marlo.
At Sloan. At Vernon and Silas and Susan.
“We’re going live,”
I said.
“Tomorrow night. We show everything: the emails, the recordings, the pattern, all of it. And we make damn sure Damian Cross never hurts another family again.”
Sloan smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile.
It was the smile of someone who’d been waiting five years for this moment.
“Let’s bury him,”
She said. So there we were, six people around my kitchen table, like we were planning a surprise party instead of taking down a predator.
Vernon sat to my right, arms crossed, his expression sharp and calculating. Silas had his laptop open, fingers already moving.
Across from me sat Sloan and her mother, Susan. Two women who had lost everything to the same man.
And beside me was Marlo, my daughter, hands folded in her lap, trying not to shake. Vernon spoke first.
“We need to call the police tonight.”
I shook my head.
“The police take time. Interviews, warrants. Damian’s flight leaves in three days. He’ll be gone before they even get started.”
“So what’s the alternative?”
Vernon asked. Sloan leaned forward.
“We go public before he can run. Before he can rewrite the story.”
Vernon frowned.
“Public? How?”
“We live stream it,”
She said.
“All of it. The evidence, the emails, the pattern. Make it so big he can’t bury it.”
Silas looked up.
“I can do that. Multi-platform. YouTube, Facebook, TikTok, Instagram Live. Once it’s out there, it’s permanent. He can’t delete it.”
“How many people would see it?”
I asked.
“Depends,”
Silas said.
“But if we hit prime time, thousands, maybe more.”
Vernon still looked uneasy.
“And then what? We just hope they believe us?”
“We don’t hope,”
Sloan said, opening her folder.
“We show them. My father’s case. Matthew Prescott’s. Graham’s. Three families, same pattern, same man.”
Susan spoke for the first time, her voice quiet but steady.
“I’ll testify on camera. I’ll tell them what I did. What he made me do.”
Sloan reached for her mother’s hand. I turned to Silas.
“When Damian flies?”
“February 11th, Sunday.”
“We go before that.”
He checked his screen.
“Saturday night, February 10th, 8:00 p.m.”
“That’s tomorrow,”
Marlo said softly.
“Yes,”
Silas replied.
“Which gives us 24 hours.”
Vernon exhaled.
“This is insane. We’re talking about accusing a criminal live on the internet.”
“You have a better idea?”
I asked. Silence.
Then Vernon nodded.
“No, I don’t.”
Marlo finally spoke.
“What do I need to do?”
Sloan met her eyes.
“You tell the truth. Everything. How he found you, how he blackmailed you, how he used you to get to your father.”
“And you show the video,”
I added.
“The one he recorded.”
Marlo went pale.
“Dad, that video is humiliating. Everyone will see me confessing.”
“I know,”
I said, taking her hand.
“But it’s proof. Proof he forced you.”
“The bar will see it too,”
She said.
“I could lose my license.”
“Yes,”
I said quietly.
“Probably for a while. But you’ll be alive and free, and Damian will be exposed.”
She stared at the table for a long moment, then she looked up.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
I searched her face.
“Once this goes live, there’s no taking it back. Everyone will know.”
She nodded, jaw set.
“He’s destroyed too many families. If I can stop him from destroying another one, it’s worth it.”
Something inside me broke open. I stood and pulled her into a hug.
The first real one in months.
“I’m sorry, Dad,”
She whispered.
“I know,”
I said.
“Me too.”
We spent the next hour planning. Silas outlined the technical setup: cameras, audio, streaming software.
Sloan mapped the narrative. Start with Albert Mitchell, then Matthew Prescott, then me.
Build the pattern. End with a call to action.
