“You didn’t just want to replace me,” I whispered to the empty room. “You wanted to erase me.”
I placed the document into my briefcase with terrified care. It felt radioactive.
This was no longer a divorce. This was war.
The next morning, the wire transfer for the house sale hit my account. It was a staggering sum, enough to start a new life anywhere in the world. But I wasn’t leaving yet.
Trevor had been blowing up my phone. Dozens of messages swinging wildly between aggression and pathetic pleading.
“Brianna, this is insane. Pick up the phone.”
“We need to talk. Mom is having heart palpitations.”
“Baby, please. It was a mistake. She means nothing. I was confused.”
“I’ll sue you for everything you have!”
I replied once.
“Come to the old house. I have a surprise for you and your bride. Let’s settle this.”
Then I blocked his number.
That afternoon, I walked into the downtown glass building that housed Miles Consulting Group. The receptionist looked up, surprised. “Mrs. Miles? We weren’t expecting you.”
“I’m here to see the auditors,” I said, walking past her.
Few people knew that Miles Consulting was a vanity project. Trevor liked to play CEO, but I had provided 100% of the seed capital. The operating agreement was explicit: I was the silent majority shareholder with the power to dissolve the board.
I met with the forensic accounting team I had deployed earlier that morning. Sarah, the lead auditor, looked grim.
“It’s bad, Ms. Adams,” she said, sliding a spreadsheet across the conference table. “Personal vacations billed as corporate retreats. ‘Client dinners’ that were actually jewelry purchases. And this…” She pointed to a recurring outflow.
“A shell company,” I read. “K-S Holdings.”
“Registered in the Cayman Islands,” Sarah said. “The signatory is Kaitlyn Shaw. He’s been siphoning operating capital into her private account for six months. It’s embezzlement, plain and simple. Over four hundred thousand dollars.”
I nodded slowly. I drafted the termination letters right there in the conference room, my handwriting sharp and precise.
On Saturday morning, I drove to the curb of the former mansion. I didn’t go in. I stood by my car, flanked by two plainclothes officers I had requested to be present.
A taxi pulled up. Trevor and Kaitlyn got out. They looked disheveled. They saw me and hurried over, relief washing over Trevor’s face. He thought I was there to give him the keys. He thought the “surprise” was forgiveness.
“Brianna!” he called out, putting on his best contrite face. “Thank God. Look, we can explain. The photo… it was staged. It was a joke!”
Kaitlyn hung back, looking wary.
“Save it, Trevor,” I said calmly.
Denise pulled up in her Mercedes a second later, screeching to a halt. She marched over, clutching her pearls. “This charade has gone on long enough, Brianna! Unfreeze the accounts immediately!”
I signaled to a courier standing nearby. He approached them holding a sleek, silver envelope case.
“For you,” I said.
Trevor tore it open.
He pulled out two official documents.
The first was for Kaitlyn. It was a letter of immediate dismissal from Apex Capital for gross misconduct, financial impropriety, and violation of the company’s ethics code regarding relationships with direct competitors. Attached was a notice of a civil lawsuit for the recovery of the stolen $400,000.
Kaitlyn read it, her hands shaking so hard the paper rattled. “You… you can’t do this.”
“I can,” I said. “And I did.”
