At seven o’clock that evening, I unlocked the front door of my apartment. Rachel was waiting downstairs in her parked car as backup. Before I even opened the door completely, I heard a woman’s voice coming from the kitchen.
“You promised me everything would be finalized today!” Courtney argued loudly.
“I couldn’t have predicted that Samantha would randomly cancel the power of attorney today,” Thomas snapped back.
“But you knew her mother was trailing her around town!” Courtney yelled.
I slowly pushed the door open and walked into the foyer. Courtney was standing by my kitchen island, wearing the expensive gold bracelet I had accidentally paid for.
“Perfect,” I said, stepping into the room. “Now I don’t have to listen to two different versions of the story.”
Thomas jumped up from his chair in complete shock.
“Samantha! I can explain everything!” he stammered.
“Start by explaining where you and Courtney planned to live after selling my home,” I said coldly.
Courtney turned her head to look at Thomas, but he stayed completely silent.
Suddenly, my phone rang with an unknown caller ID. I answered it immediately on speaker mode.
“Mrs. Samantha Miller?” a man’s stern voice spoke. “This is Marcus Vance, your husband’s primary commercial supplier. I need to speak with you directly without Thomas present.”
Thomas lunged forward to grab my phone.
“Don’t talk to him!” Thomas shouted, his face turning pale with absolute terror.
I stepped back out of his reach.
“Go ahead, Mr. Vance, I’m listening,” I said to the phone.
“Your husband doesn’t owe me five million dollars like he told people,” Marcus declared clearly. “He owes my company almost eight million dollars. And selling your residential apartment was never meant solely to pay off his business debt.”
Thomas closed his eyes in defeat. At that exact moment, I realized that the mistress, the debt, and the apartment were only a small piece of a much larger lie.
PART 3
The next morning, I met Marcus Vance at a quiet diner near his commercial distribution warehouse in Columbus. He sat down opposite me with a heavy manila folder.
“I have no interest in getting involved in your divorce,” Marcus said straightforwardly. “I just want Thomas to stop using my company’s name to justify his reckless actions.”
He spread out signed contracts, unpaid invoices, and text transcripts. My husband’s business had been failing for over a year. Thomas had been acquiring inventory on credit, promising big client deals that never existed, and taking new loans to cover old overdue payments.
His company was not entirely hopeless. He could have downsized his staff, sold his luxury company vehicle, moved out of his expensive office space, and renegotiated terms with suppliers. But Thomas was far too proud to let anyone see that he was struggling financially. He wanted to keep driving his luxury SUV, taking clients to high-end restaurants, and pretending to be a wealthy executive.
“Two weeks ago, he told me he was selling a residential property to settle his account,” Marcus explained. “I assumed you were both in agreement.”
He printed out a text message from Thomas that read: As soon as the apartment sale closes tomorrow, I will transfer five million to you. I need to retain the rest for other pressing expenses.
