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?

Susan Mitchell spoke first.

“Oh, I believed him,”

She whispered.

“I thought he loved me. I thought my husband was the problem. I was wrong. And now Albert is gone and I have to live with that every single day.”

Susan Prescott nodded.

“He told me the same things. That Matthew was controlling, that I deserved better, that he would take care of everything.”

She wiped her eyes.

“Matthew died in prison. He never got to meet his grandson because of me. Because I trusted Damian Cross.”

The viewer count hit 12,000. The comment section was moving too fast to read.

Damian pulled out his phone.

“I’m calling my lawyer,”

He said. His hand was shaking.

I stood up.

“Go ahead,”

I said.

“But 12,000 people just watched you confess on camera with witnesses in real time.”

I took a step toward him.

“You’re done, Damian.”

The Son’s Silent Sacrifice

That’s when we heard it. Sirens.

Faint at first, then louder. Red and blue lights flashed through the front window.

Reflected off the walls. Off Margot’s face.

Off the camera lens. Damian turned toward the door.

Vernon didn’t move. The sirens got closer and closer and then they stopped right outside.

The front door opened. Detective Kelsey Grant stepped inside first.

Mid-40s, dark blazer, badge clipped to her belt. She moved with the kind of calm that comes from 20 years on the job.

Behind her, Officer Dean Foster, younger brother, kept one hand near his radio. Kelsey’s eyes swept the room.

She took in the cameras, the laptop, the TV screen still showing the live stream split with Sloan Mitchell and the two Susans. The viewer count in the corner: 16,200.

Then she looked at Damian.

“Y, Mr. Cross,”

She said, her voice was level, professional.

“You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit fraud, tampering with evidence, and extortion.”

Damian didn’t move. His face was stone.

“I want my lawyer,”

He said. Kelsey nodded.

“You’ll get one. Hands behind your back.”

For a moment, Damian just stood there like he was calculating whether he could talk his way out of this. He couldn’t.

Officer Foster stepped forward with the handcuffs. The sound of the cuffs clicking shut echoed through the room.

Margot stood up from the couch. Her voice shook.

“Detective, I can explain.”

Kelsey turned to her.

“Mrs. Whitfield,”

She said calmly.

“You’re also under arrest. Accessory to fraud, conspiracy, evidence tampering.”

Margot’s face crumpled.

“No! No, you don’t understand! I didn’t… Graham, please!”

She turned to me, eyes wide, desperate. I looked away.

There was movement from the kitchen. Marlo stepped into the doorway.

Her hands were trembling. She’d been listening from the other room the whole time.

“Detective Grant,”

She said quietly. Kelsey turned.

“I need to give a statement.”

Kelsey studied her for a moment.

“You’re Marlo Whitfield.”

Marlo nodded.

“I was coerced into participating,”

She said, her voice was steadier now.

“I have recordings, documents, everything that proves Damian Cross blackmailed me.”

She took a breath.

“I’m ready to testify.”

Kelsey’s expression softened just slightly.

“We’ll need a full statement from you tonight, if possible.”

Marlo nodded again.

“I’m ready.”

Officer Foster started reading Damian his Miranda rights.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Damian wasn’t listening. He was staring at the laptop.

At the live stream. At the comment section still flooding with messages.

“Lock him up!” “Justice for Albert Mitchell!” “Thank you, Graham Whitfield!” “This is insane!”

The viewer count hit 17,000. Kelsey gestured to Officer Foster.

He guided Damian toward the door. Margot was next.

Another officer, a woman I didn’t recognize, stepped forward with a second pair of handcuffs.

“Mrs. Whitfield, hands behind your back.”

Margot’s knees buckled. She caught herself on the arm of the couch.

“Graca,”

She whispered.

“Please don’t let them do this.”

I didn’t answer. Vernon stood near the wall, arms still crossed.

He met my eyes, gave a single nod.

“You did the right thing.”

They led Margot toward the door. She was crying now.