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?

Kelsey stood up, started gathering the files.

“Mr. Whitfield, I want you to understand something. If you hadn’t figured this out when you did, if you hadn’t gone public with that live stream, you’d be sitting in a cell right now. And Damian would still be out there hunting his next victim.”

She looked at me.

“So you saved yourself. And you probably saved a lot of other people too.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. Kelsey reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a business card.

“That’s one more thing,”

She said. She handed me the card.

It was plain white. No logo.

Just a name. Sloan Mitchell.

“Sloan Mitchell asked me to give this to you,”

Kelsey said.

“She said she has something for you. Didn’t tell me what. Just said you’d want to see it.”

I turned the card over in my hands.

“Did she say when?”

“Soon. She said to call her when you’re ready.”

Kelsey walked us out of the precinct. The sun was bright.

Too bright after sitting in that windowless room for an hour. Marlo stood next to me on the steps.

“That,”

She said quietly.

“Are you okay?”

I looked at the business card again. Sloan Mitchell.

The daughter of the man who died because of Damian. The woman who’d appeared on that live stream and told the world what he’d done to her family.

What did she want to give me?

“Yeah,”

I said.

“I’m okay.”

But I wasn’t sure if that was true. We walked to the car.

Marlo got in the passenger seat. I sat behind the wheel.

I stared at the card for a long time. Then I put it in my pocket, started the engine, and drove home.

A Final Sale

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about what Kelsey had said.

“Four victims. Could be more. You’d be sitting in a cell right now.”

At 2:00 in the morning, I got out of bed, went downstairs, sat at the kitchen table with my phone. I pulled out Sloan’s card, stared at her name, and then I called her.

It rang twice.

“Mr. Whitfield,”

She said, her voice was calm, like she’d been waiting.

“Sloan,”

I said.

“Detective Grant gave me your card.”

“I know. I’ve been hoping you’d call,”

She said.

“You have something for me.”

There was a pause, then Sloan said,

“I do. But I need to show you in person. Can you meet me tomorrow, 3:00, Prospect Park, near the boathouse?”

I hesitated.

“What is it?”

“Something my father left behind,”

She said.

“Something you need to see.”

Judge Irene Langley brought the gavel down. The courtroom went silent.

Damian Cross sat at the defense table, hands cuffed in front of him, face cold as stone. Next to him, Jerome Caldwell, Margot’s attorney, leaned over and whispered something to Margot.

The woman I’d been married to for 26 years. The woman I didn’t recognize anymore.

Across the aisle, Edmund Nash, my attorney, sat with his arms folded, waiting. Behind me, Marlo sat in the gallery.

Vernon was next to her. Silas too.

And Sloan Mitchell. The families were here.

All of them. Judge Langley nodded to the prosecutor.

“Call your first witness.”

Susan Mitchell stood up. Albert’s widow.

She walked to the witness stand slowly. Her hands shook as she placed them on the Bible.

The clerk swore her in. Susan sat down, looked directly at Damian.

“Mrs. Mitchell,”

The prosecutor said.

“Can you tell the court what happened to your husband?”

Susan’s voice was quiet but steady.

“My husband died in prison two years after he was convicted. He had a stroke, alone in his cell.”

She paused.

“He died believing his daughter hated him. Believing I betrayed him. Believing he’d lost everything.”

She looked at Damian.

“Damian Cross took everything from us. Our home, our reputation, our family. And then he took Albert’s life.”

The courtroom was silent. The prosecutor thanked her.

Then Susan Prescott stood up. Matthew’s widow.

She didn’t cry. Her voice was hard, angry.

“My husband lost his career. His name. His will to live. All because of that man.”

She pointed at Damian.

“Damian Cross is a predator. He doesn’t just steal money, he destroys families. He destroys lives. And he does it on purpose.”

She stepped down. Marlo was next.

I watched her walk to the stand. Watched her place her hand on the Bible.

Watched her sit down and look at the judge. Her voice shook at first, but it got stronger.

“She’s… I embezzled $85,000 from client trust accounts,”

She said.

“That was my mistake. My fault. No one else’s.”

She took a breath.

“But Damian Cross used that mistake. He found out about it. He recorded me confessing and then he blackmailed me.”

Edmund Nash stood up.

“Ew, Miss Whitfield, did Mr. Cross threaten you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“He said if I didn’t cooperate, he’d release the video. He said I’d lose my law license. That I’d go to prison. That I’d lose everything.”

“What did he want you to do?”

Marlo’s voice cracked.

“He wanted me to spy on my father. To give him access to my father’s finances. To help him plant evidence.”

“Did you?”

She nodded, tears running down her face.

“Yes, I did. And I will regret it for the rest of my life.”

Edmund paused.

“Did your father know about the embezzlement before Damian contacted you?”

“No. I was too ashamed to tell him.”

Edmund sat down. Marlo stepped down from the stand.

She didn’t look at me. Then Margot took the stand.

She was crying before she even sat down.

“Saying I loved my husband,”

She said. Her voice was shaking.

“But I felt lonely. Damian made me feel seen. He promised me a new life.”

The prosecutor stood up.

“Mrs. Whitfield, you transferred $62,000 from your joint account on February 3rd. Why?”

“Damian told me to.”

“Uh, did you ask why?”

Margot hesitated.

“No.”

“You didn’t think it was strange?”

“I… I… I trusted him.”

The prosecutor pulled out a bank statement.

“This transfer occurred seven months before your husband discovered the evidence in the basement. You were planning this with Mr. Cross for at least seven months. Isn’t that correct?”

Margot looked down.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you planned to frame your husband for fraud?”

“I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think he’d go to prison?”

Margot didn’t answer. The prosecutor sat down.

I took the stand last. Edmund stood up.

“Mr. Whitfield, why did you choose to live stream the confrontation instead of going to the police?”

I looked at the jury.

“Because I knew Damian would disappear. He had a plane ticket to the Cayman Islands. He was leaving in less than 48 hours. And… and I knew the other families needed to see the truth. They needed to know their husbands, their fathers, weren’t criminals. That they were victims.”

Edmund nodded.

“One last question, Mr. Whitfield. Do you forgive your wife?”

I looked at Margot. She was staring at me, eyes red, face streaked with tears.

I took a breath.

“I… I forgive the woman I thought she was,”

I said.

“But the woman sitting over there? I don’t know her.”

Judge Langley folded her hands.

“Mr. Cross, you have been found guilty of conspiracy to commit fraud, evidence tampering, extortion, and racketeering. I hereby sentence you to 10 years in federal prison.”

Damian didn’t react.

“Mrs. Whitfield, you have been found guilty of conspiracy and fraud. I sentence you to 8 years.”

Margot gasped, started crying harder.

“Miss Whitfield, due to your cooperation and testimony, I sentence you to 18 months of supervised probation. Your law license will be suspended for 2 years.”

Marlo nodded, whispered,

“Thank you.”

Two officers stepped forward, took Damian by the arms. As they led him toward the door, he turned his head.

Looked at me one last time.

“You didn’t win,”

He said quietly.

“You just delayed the inevitable.”

I didn’t respond. I stood up, took Marlo’s hand, and we walked out of that courtroom together.