There was even mention of the $500. 000 promisory note with a scanned copy of the note itself attached bearing Ethan’s signature and thumbrint. Perfect. I forwarded the email with the scanned note to a new anonymous email address. Then I asked Mr. Peterson to find someone who could accidentally cross paths with Khloe.

He hired a private investigator disguised as a courier to wait near the high-end spa Kloe frequented. That afternoon, Khloe emerged from her spa treatment, glowing and happy on her way to meet Ethan for dinner. The courier accidentally bumped into her. A folder he was carrying fell scattering a few papers on the ground. “Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am. So sorry.

” The courier apologized, frantically gathering the papers. Chloe, annoyed, was about to snap at him when her eyes landed on the top page on the ground. Promisory note, Ethan Davis’s signature, and the bold, unmissable text, $500 0. Her face fell. She forgot her anger and pointed at the paper, “What is this?” The courier quickly snatched the paper and stuffed it back in the folder, muttering, “Oh, it’s nothing, ma’am.

” Just some junk mail delivered to the wrong place. He then hopped on his electric scooter and sped away. Kloe stood frozen on the sidewalk, her face turning from white to red and back again. She wasn’t an idiot. That was Ethan’s signature, a $500 loan. So, he really was in that much debt.

What about the big project? What about him saying she didn’t have to worry? She immediately pulled out her phone and called Ethan, her voice sharp and panicked. Ethan, where are you? I just saw something. Did you borrow half a million dollars from someone? What is going on? I could imagine the rest of the conversation.

Ethan would have made excuses, claimed it was an old debt he was about to pay off, told her not to worry. But the seed of doubt once planted grows fast, and Ethan’s problems were real. A few days later, a video of creditors screaming for their money outside his office building was posted on a local community forum. It was quickly taken down, but not before it made the rounds.

Chloe, an avid consumer of online gossip, would not have missed it. She finally couldn’t take it anymore and started secretly investigating the true state of Ethan’s company. The results were devastating investors, pulling out employees, leaving the project dead in the water and a mountain of debt. The beautiful future Ethan had promised her was nothing but a mirage.

I heard she had a massive fight with him at his office, screaming and crying, throwing things, demanding to know why he had lied to her. What about the sovereign tower Ethan, already on the verge of a breakdown from the pressure, was in no state to plate her? They fought viciously and Khloe reportedly stormed out in tears.

She was seen with her eyes swollen shut, a far cry from the smug, happy woman who had flaunted her new life to me. I heard this news in my spacious light-filled penthouse at the sovereign tower, sipping tea prepared by the housekeeper Mr. Peterson had hired for me. The sun streamed through the floor to ceiling windows, the city skyline spread out below.

I swirled the tea in my cup and smiled. How does it feel to wake up from your dream, Chloe? The golden goose you thought you’d caught turned out to be a broke plucked chicken. Khloe’s meltdown was satisfying, but it wasn’t enough. Just having them fight was too cheap a revenge. I needed to fan the flames, bring the whole pot to a boil.

I needed them to see each other’s true colors and tear each other apart. The time was ripe. Ethan was cornered by debt and failure. Khloe’s dreams were shattered. Their relationship was a tinder box of suspicion and anger. It was the perfect time to drop the bomb. the truth about why Ethan had really divorced me.

How to do it, I couldn’t tell them myself. That would be boring. They had to find out from a source they couldn’t possibly doubt. One person came to mind, Mr. Russo, the lone shark who had played the part of the fake creditor. He was the key witness. I had Mr. Peterson investigate him. He quickly came back with Russo’s contact information.

And an extra tidbit, Russo was also in a tight spot financially and was furious that Ethan hadn’t paid him back for his actual smaller loan. More importantly, he was a coward who didn’t want any real trouble. Perfect. I had Mr. Peterson’s team contact Russo anonymously. The offer was simple. If he were to accidentally let slip to a certain furious new wife, how Ethan had conspired with him to fake a debt, someone would pay off a significant portion of what Ethan owed him enough to solve his immediate cash flow problem,

and he would be guaranteed to face no repercussions. For a man antsy about his money and scared of escalation, the offer was irresistible. All he had to do was tell the truth. Russo agreed almost immediately. The stage was set at a cafe where Khloe had been frequently meeting Ethan to argue. The time was that afternoon when Ethan had reluctantly agreed to meet her to talk things out.

I didn’t go myself, of course. That would be beneath me. Mr. Peterson had someone record the events from a distance. That afternoon at the cafe, Khloe reportedly confronted Ethan the moment he sat down, demanding to know the real situation with his company and the $500 debt. Ethan was still trying to bluff his way through it, claiming it was a temporary setback. Right on cue, Mr.

Russo happened to walk into the same cafe. He spotted Ethan and walked over with a friendly smile. Hey, Ethan, my man. Fancy seeing you here? On a date, his eyes flickered over to Chloe. He then said to Ethan loud enough for her to hear, “Wow, you work fast. Divorced one day, new girlfriend the next. Looks like my acting job for you paid off, huh? The one where I pretended to be your big creditor so you could get that divorce.

This new lady is a definite upgrade.” The word struck Chloe like a lightning bolt. She shot to her feet, her eyes wide, pointing at Russo. Her voice was a piercing shriek. “What? What did you say? What acting job? What fake debt for a divorce?” Russo feigned shock, looking back and forth between Ethan’s ghostly pale face and Khloe’s. He waved his hands frantically as if he’d made a terrible mistake. Oh.

Uh, she didn’t know. You didn’t tell her, Ethan. Oh, man. My big mouth. It was a misunderstanding. I didn’t say anything. I’m just going to go. As he tried to leave, Kloe grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his flesh. Where are you going? You tell me right now. What acting job? What really happened? Trapped, Russo looked at the ashen-faced Ethan and the crazed Khloe and put on a show of reluctance.

Then stammering, he spilled everything. Well, Ethan asked me for a favor to pretend I was a lone shark he owed half a million to. Said it was the only way to get a clean, quick divorce from his ex-wife. There was no big debt like that. The money he owes me is a much smaller amount. I I had no idea. You didn’t know. The truth was out.

Khloe stood frozen. Her face, a kaleidoscope of white, red, and purple. She trembled from head to toe. She turned slowly to face Ethan, her eyes looking like she wanted to eat him alive. Ethan, is what this man said true? You lied to me. There was no big project. You lied about the debt to get rid of Sarah. You lied to me from the very beginning.

Ethan, completely flustered, tried to stammer out an excuse. Chloe, listen to me. It’s not like that. I did it for us. For us, Khloe screamed, grabbing her coffee and flinging it directly into Ethan’s face. You liar. You pathetic piece of trash. You made me look like a fool. I thought you were this amazing businessman, but you’re just a broke, incompetent loser who cheats on his wife.

You’re not even human. Coffee dripped down Ethan’s face. Humiliated in front of the entire cafe. His own anger flared. He wiped his face and yelled back, “And you’re so innocent. If you hadn’t been pressuring me to get married and buy you a penthouse every single day, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Now that there’s a problem you’re blaming it all on me.

You have no shame. Ethan Davis Khloe completely unhinged, lunged at him, scratching and hitting. Give me back my money. All the money you spent on me, give it back. The two of them devolved into a physical brawl in the middle of the cafe. Cries, curses, and the sound of falling chairs filled the air, providing a spectacle for everyone present.

The person recording from a distance sent me the video. It was grainy, but the chaos was clear. The insults and sobs perfectly audible. I took a slow sip of my warm tea. Delicious. It’s so lovely to see you two tearing each other apart. The cafe brawl ended only when the manager threatened to call the police. Ethan and Kloe were now sworn enemies.

I heard Khloe packed her bags and left Ethan’s place that very day, but not before taking whatever valuables she could find and maxing out his credit cards. These details came from Mr. Peterson, who had become my personal intelligence agent. I was satisfied, but the fire couldn’t stop with just those two. Ethan’s mother and sister, they thought their son and brother was a big shot.

They thought I wasn’t good enough for him. They helped him deceive me and even tried to take my home. It was their turn. I didn’t go to them. It was beneath me. I had Mr. Peterson in his capacity as legal counsel for the Elellanar Vance Foundation call their landline. Why the landline? Older people tend to take such calls more seriously and there was a higher chance the whole family would hear it on speakerphone. Mrs.

Davis answered. Mr. Peterson’s voice was formal, almost chilling. Good afternoon. Am I speaking to a resident of the Davis household? She was a little flustered. Yes, this is she. Who’s calling? Good afternoon, ma’am. I am an attorney with Sterling and Chase representing the Eleanor Vance Foundation.

I am calling to inform you of a financial dispute involving your son, Mr. Ethan Davis, and a foundation related project, as well as his repeated attempts to fraudulently secure funding using the foundation’s name. Our investigation is complete, and the evidence is conclusive. I could almost see her face hardening over the phone.

Her voice rose, “What foundation? What dispute? What funding? What did my son do? You must have the wrong person.” Mr. Peterson ignored her, his voice devoid of emotion. Given Mr. Davis’s severe breach of conduct, the foundation has decided to take the following actions. One, all potential collaborations with Mr. Davis and his associates are terminated immediately.

Two, we reserve the right to pursue full legal action against him. Three, the foundation strongly advises you and your family to encourage Mister Davis to settle all his outstanding external debts promptly to avoid more severe legal consequences. This concludes our notification. He then hung up, giving her no time to react.

I could picture the scene Mrs. Davis holding a dead phone, her face, a mask of shock and confusion, followed by pandemonium. Sure enough, less than 30 minutes later, my old phone began ringing off the hook. Ethan must have been summoned home. The first call was from him, his voice laced with fury and terror.

Sarah, it was you, wasn’t it? This is your doing. What the hell is this foundation? What are you trying to do to me? I played innocent. foundation. Ethan, what are you talking about? We’re divorced. Your business is your business. Still playing dumb? He yelled. That lawyer, the Eleanor Vance Foundation, you put them up to this to scare me. Well, I’m not scared.

I laughed. Ethan, you’re drowning in debt. Your company is failing, and now you’ve tangled with some foundation. You’ve really made a mess of things. You made it. You can clean it up. Stop bothering me. I hung up immediately. A call from Mrs. Davis came through. Her voice a mix of sobs and unprecedented panic. Sarah.

Sarah. A lawyer just called. He said Ethan is in big trouble. That he crossed some foundation and they’re going to sue him. What’s going on? Do you know anything? Can you talk to them? Can you help Ethan? Please, Sarah, help me. I feigned shock. Mrs. Davis, I have no idea what you’re talking about. How would I know what Ethan’s been up to? And how could I possibly know people from some powerful foundation? You’re overestimating me.

No, it has to be you, she insisted. This can’t be a coincidence, Sarah. I know I was wrong to you in the past. But for old times sake, please help Ethan. If something happens to him, this family is finished. Before I could reply, I heard Ethan’s raw shout in the background. Mom, what’s the use of begging her? She’s the one behind all of this.

That vicious woman is trying to destroy me. Then came Jessica’s shrill voice. How can you talk to mom like that? This is all your fault. What are we going to do? Are the debt collectors going to come to our house? The line descended into chaos. Crying, yelling, blaming. Ethan resented his family for being useless. Mrs. Davis wailed that her son was a failure, and Jessica screamed about how this would affect her.

I held the phone away from my ear, listening to the symphony of destruction I had composed. A cold smile crept across my lips. Fight. Scream. blame each other. This is just the overture. I quietly ended the call, cutting myself off from their Sodom and Gomorrah. The old ship of the Davis family was sinking, and I had just given it one final gentle push.

The chaos on the other end of the line was satisfying, but it wasn’t enough. They had leeched off me for years, treated me like a fool. It was time to collect the principal with interest. Ethan was ruined. Kloe was gone. But my ex-in-laws still had everything they had taken from me. I remembered it all clearly. The gold bracelet I bought for my mother-in-law’s birthday, which Jessica had insisted was the bare minimum for a good daughter-in-law.

The countless times Jessica had borrowed money from me for dates and clothes, never paying it back. The appliances and furniture in this very apartment, many of which I had paid for with my own pre-marriage savings. I still had the receipts. I had never made an issue of it before because we were family. But now we were strangers. I had Mr.

Peterson tally up every documented scent and item that had gone to my in-laws, not including Ethan. It came to about $2000. Not a huge sum, but for the now destitute Davis family, it would be a killing blow. I had him send a formal demand letter directly to Mrs. Davis. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. The letter listed my personal property and gave them a deadline for its return, stating that failure to comply would result in a lawsuit for theft and conversion.

Copies of receipts were attached. I didn’t forget Ethan, the old computer and printer in his now defunct office. I had paid for those on my credit card. I had Mr. Peterson send a demand letter for those as well, demanding their return or monetary compensation. The day after the letters were sent, I received a hysterical weeping call from Mrs. Davis.

Sarah, how can you be so cruel demanding all those things back? Are you even human? We’re in such a difficult situation and you’re trying to kill us. My voice was calm, almost cold. Those are my things, Mrs. Davis. It’s only right that I get them back. I was a fool to give them to you, but not anymore.

Return them by the deadline or I’ll see you in court. She sobbed harder. That gold bracelet. I’ve worn it for years. I’m attached to it. How can you ask for it back? And the money you gave, Jessica, you gave it to her because you wanted to. I laughed. Because I wanted to. I gave it to her because she was my sister-in-law.

She’s not anymore. attachment. Did you feel any attachment to me when you conspired to have me divorced and tried to take my apartment? She was speechless, reduced to choked sobs. A moment later, an enraged Jessica called Sarah. What is this? A demand letter. Who are you trying to scare? Are you really going to do this over some junk and a little bit of money? Why have you become so vicious? I shot back immediately.

It’s my junk to do with as I please. Vicious. Is it more vicious than your entire family ganging up to trick me into a divorce? Just pack up my things. My lawyer will be in touch about the drop off. And what if I don’t? She sputtered. You don’t? Fine. We’ll see you in court. I said cool coolly.

A criminal record for theft might not look so good on your job applications or when you’re trying to get married, do you think? Jessica went silent. Then she hung up. I knew they would cave. They didn’t have the courage or the resources for a real legal battle, and they would be terrified of tarnishing Jessica’s future.

Sure enough, on the final day of the deadline, a courier delivered a small box to a location I designated. Inside was the gold bracelet, now looking a bit dull, along with other trinkets I’d given them. A small wire transfer for the depreciated value of the office equipment also came through. They must have scraped together their last remaining dollars.

Looking at these objects, once symbols of my foolish devotion, I felt nothing. It was all just laughable. I told Mr. Peterson to sell the gold and donate the rest. The money was recovered. With that, the last nod of resentment in my heart for the Davis family finally unraveled. They were now truly penniless, their internal conflicts at a fever pitch from which they would never recover.

That was enough. My revenge was complete. The rest of their journey would be through a swamp of their own making. I now had a clear sky to fly in. With the last of the messy business handled, I looked at the long string of numbers in my bank account. Then around the empty dated apartment that held 5 years of bitter memories.

I took a deep cleansing breath. It was time to leave. My new home was ready. The penthouse in the city’s most exclusive building with a view that stretched for miles. On moving day, I told no one. I got into the new car I’d bought, understated but powerful, and gave the old front door one last look.

Then I stepped on the gas and drove away without a backward glance. The night view from my new floor to ceiling windows was like a blanket of scattered diamonds. I held a glass of wine and sank into the plush sofa. This, I thought, was what it felt like to live. Occasionally, Mr. Peterson would call with an update on my assets or to ask if I had any new plans.

My sense of money had become numb. I had more than I could ever spend. I just told him to manage it wisely. One day, he asked Miss Collins, “Shall we continue the business measures against Mr. Davis’s former company?” I swirled the wine in my glass, gazing out the window. “No, let it go. It’s not worth the energy anymore.

” “Unt”,” he paused. “For your information, Mr. Davis’s company officially filed for bankruptcy last week. He has numerous outstanding debts, including unpaid wages. He has also moved from his last known address, and his current whereabouts are unknown. I see, I said simply. My heart felt no ripple. His hardship was his own doing.

I had no more thought to spare for him. Then a hint of amusement entered Mr. Peterson’s voice. His mother, Mrs. Davis, has attempted to contact you through our firm’s front desk on several occasions. She says she wants to apologize and ask for help. As per your instructions, all attempts were rebuffed. I chuckled. Apologize. Ask for help.

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