“Three months,” Jonathan replied without hesitation, “irreconcilable differences, she will be emotionally wrecked and will not fight it, and with the loan unpaid and the house as collateral she will have to sell it.”
He added in a colder tone, “As her brother and financial advisor, I will offer to handle the sale.”
They all laughed together, a satisfied sound that made my wedding ring feel like it was burning my finger.
Olivia then asked, “What about her,” and I knew she was referring to me as if I were an object in the room.
“Leave her alone,” Jonathan said, “she will wake up with a headache and by then we will have already made our move.”
I felt something inside me shift from fear to focus, and instead of crawling out and screaming, I reached slowly into my clutch purse and pulled out my phone.
I had silenced it earlier, and with trembling fingers I opened the voice recorder and pressed record.
For fifteen long minutes I captured every detail, including their discussion of previous victims in other cities, women who had lost businesses and homes because they trusted Victor’s charm and Jonathan’s financial guidance.