The Call That Destroyed My Father Chapter 04
“Diane.” My father looked at her. “I was going to tell you when the timing was right. Since you know now, we might as well talk terms.”
He walked to the sofa and sat down.
“I’m not divorcing you. You’ll still be Mrs. Warren. Nothing has to change. I’ll keep covering the
monthly household expenses.”
“But from now on, I’ll spend 3 days a week in Southridge. You don’t get to say a word about it. We’ll each have our own life. That’s better for everyone.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“And if I don’t agree?” my mother asked.
I’ll make
“If you don’t agree?” My father sneered. “Then file for divorce. But I’m telling you now, sure you get nothing. By then, you won’t even have a place to live. You’re in your 50s, you have health issues, and if you leave me, how exactly will you support yourself?”
I was shaking with rage.
I rushed into the kitchen, grabbed the first knife I saw, and stormed back out.
“I’ll make you pay, you monster.”
“Claire!” My mother grabbed me and held me tight. “Don’t do something stupid.”
“Mom! He went too far.” The tears finally came.
My father watched my mother and me sobbing in each other’s arms, and not a single trace of
emotion crossed his face.
“Are you
through.”
done?” He stood. “I’m staying in Southridge tonight. Call me when you’ve thought this
He left without looking back.
“Mom, I’m sorry.” I held my mother. “I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t help you.”
My mother stroked my hair.
“Sweetheart, why are you crying?”
She helped me stand and led me to the sofa.
Then she took something out of her canvas tote.
It was a custom matchbook from The Marlowe Grand Resort.
I froze.
“Mom, you…”
“Did
you think that follow-up call was for you?” A cold smile curled at the corner of her mouth.
My eyes widened.
“I asked the hotel to make that call. I wanted you to see who the Richard you’ve always admired really was.” Her voice was ice-cold.
“Claire, Richard thinks that for the last 30 years, I’ve really just been a housewife chained to a kitchen.”
She tossed the matchbook onto the table.
“He forgot that 30 years ago, I was the youngest CPA in this city.”
My mother’s voice was calm.
“Did you really think his little asset transfers could get past me?”
I was too shocked to speak.
“Mom, you knew all along?”
“6 months before you did,” my mother said. “I knew from the first time he moved money through
an offshore account.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t have enough evidence.” My mother stood and walked to the study door. “I was waiting for him to move the biggest transfer into her name.”
She pushed open the study door and looked back at me.
I followed her inside.
My mother walked straight to the bookcase, reached into the back of the 3rd shelf, and pulled out a
book on architectural management.
Inside it was a black flash drive.
My mother plugged the drive in, and the screen lit up.
She typed in a string of numbers quickly, like she had done it before.
A hidden folder opened.
I leaned closer.
It was full of spreadsheets and scanned documents.
My mother pointed at the data on the screen.
“He doesn’t trust anyone. He kept copies of all the key transfer records himself.”
My heart pounded as I looked at the spreadsheets.
“Mom, with this, can we sue him?” I asked, barely containing my excitement.
“Not yet.” My mother shook her head. “That’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?”
My mother turned and looked at me.
“I want him in prison.”
