The voice recorder shook in my hands, a small, black rectangle that held the complete and utter devastation of my world. A familiar voice, my husband’s, came through the tiny speaker, smooth and intimate. “Hey, beautiful. Your husband is leaving on a business trip tomorrow.”
It was Mike’s voice—my Mike—the man I had considered the most honest person in the world. But the second voice, a woman’s throaty laugh, was not my best friend, Lily. It was a stranger. And her words made me clutch the edge of the café table until my knuckles turned white.
“Yes, darling. Finally. Just the two of us for three days. Rachel suspects nothing. You don’t have to worry.”
I hit pause, a ragged, strangled breath escaping my lungs. A lump the size of a fist formed in my throat. Across the table, Lily watched me, her eyes filled with a sympathy so profound it almost broke me. “Rachel,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry. I overheard them at a café last week. I didn’t know how to tell you… I thought you deserved to hear it for yourself.”
I pressed play again, the disembodied voices filling the space between us.
“You know, darling,” the woman’s voice, Sarah’s voice, continued, “I’ve already found us an apartment in a new neighborhood. After the divorce, we’ll move in together immediately.”
“Don’t worry, Sarah,” Mike replied, his tone so tender it was a physical blow. He hadn’t used that tone with me in years. “I’ve thought it all through. I’ll put the apartment in my mom’s name, sell the car to a friend… The assets are almost all transferred offshore. Rachel will be left with nothing but credit card debt. She’s strong and independent. She’ll manage.”
They laughed. A shared, intimate, cruel sound. They were laughing at the cleverness of their plan to utterly destroy me. For ten years, I had built our home, supported his business, worked myself to the bone so his construction company could thrive. And this was my reward. Infidelity, and a meticulously planned financial execution. Something hot and clean rose inside me, burning away the shock and the sorrow. It was pure, unadulterated rage.
“Rachel, what are you doing?” Lily asked, alarmed, as I stood and began packing my bag.
“I’m going to the Economic Crimes Division,” I said, my voice firm, devoid of the tears they expected. “I know an investigator there, Gregory Smith. He’ll help me.” I looked at Lily, my resolve hardening into something sharp and dangerous. “That couple will regret the day they ever decided to cross me.”
Five minutes later, we were in the sterile, coffee-scented office of Investigator Gregory Smith. He was a large man in his fifties with a kind, weathered face and attentive eyes. I had met him a year ago when I’d helped his wife with the interior design of their new apartment.
“Rachel, what’s happened?” he asked, taking in my pale face and Lily’s protective stance.
I simply handed him the recorder. “My husband is planning a divorce,” I said. “And it seems he’s trying to leave me with nothing but his debts.”
The three of us listened in silence as the recording played. Gregory’s expression grew darker with each passing word. When it ended, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Offshore accounts. Transferring property. This is serious.” He looked at me. “Rachel, are you aware of your husband’s financial affairs?”
“Partially,” I admitted. “He owns StroyGarret Construction. I’ve helped with design projects, but I’m not involved in the accounting. I know business is good. Last month, they got a big government contract to build a new kindergarten.”
“A government contract?” Gregory’s eyes sharpened. “That changes things. If he’s funneling money from a government contract offshore, that’s a federal crime. But we’ll need stronger evidence than this recording.”
“What if she goes to his office?” Lily suggested. “Under some pretext, like bringing him lunch?”
Gregory shook his head. “Too risky. If he suspects anything, he’ll lock everything down.” He turned to me. “Rachel, do you have access to his work computer at home?”
I nodded. “Yes. He works from home in the evenings. And I know the password. It’s our wedding date.” The irony was a bitter pill.
“Here’s the plan,” Gregory said, his voice decisive. “Tonight, when he’s asleep, you copy every file you can. Look for finances, transfers, contracts. Be careful. If he wakes up, you were looking up a recipe. Meanwhile, I’ll start digging into this Sarah. You don’t have a last name?”
I shook my head.
“That’s fine. We’ll find her,” he said confidently. “The main thing, Rachel, is to act normally. Don’t let him suspect a thing. He leaves on his trip tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. A six a.m. flight.”
“Perfect. See him off like a loving wife. Then, we act.”
I got home to find Mike in the kitchen, a picture of domestic bliss. “Rachel, why so late? I was starting to worry.” The performance was flawless. What an actor, I thought, looking into the dark brown eyes I had once trusted implicitly.
“Just had a long coffee with Lily,” I lied, the words coming with surprising ease. We ordered a pizza, opened a bottle of my favorite red wine. I played the part of the devoted wife, listening attentively as he talked about his upcoming “business trip,” laughing at his jokes.
“You know, Rachel,” he said, covering my hand with his after his second glass of wine, “maybe we should have a child. It’s time.”
He was talking about having a child with me while actively planning to move in with his mistress. I nearly choked, but managed a small, noncommittal smile. “Let’s discuss it when you get back, Mike. It’s a big decision.”
By eleven, he was yawning. “Time for bed. Early start.”
“You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll just clean up a bit.”
I waited until I heard his deep, steady breathing from the bedroom. Then, I slipped into his home office. The password worked: 02152012. Such a damn romantic.
The desktop was a mess of files. I plugged in a flash drive and began to copy everything. Finances. Contracts. Transfers. Personal. The last folder made my heart stop. I opened it. Photos. Dozens of them. Mike with a young, stunningly beautiful blonde woman—on a beach, in a restaurant, in what was clearly a hotel bed. So that’s you, Sarah. In one photo, they stood in front of an upscale salon. The sign was clear: Sarah’s Beauty Salon. The name on the window read Sarah Miller.
The copying took an hour, an eternity of listening for any sound from the bedroom, my heart pounding with every click of the mouse. Finally, it was done. I shut down the computer and tiptoed back to our room. He was asleep on his back, so familiar, so close, and yet a complete stranger.
In the morning, I made his favorite breakfast, drove him to the airport, and kissed him goodbye at the departures gate. “I’ll miss you,” he said, his hug feeling like a cage.
“I’ll miss you, too,” I promised. “Good luck, darling.”
As I watched him walk away, I thought, This is the last time I see him off as his wife. The next time we meet, it will be in court.
From the airport, I went straight to Gregory’s office. He had a young colleague with him, a cybercrime specialist named Alex. I handed over the flash drive, and they went to work.
Half an hour later, Gregory whistled. “Rachel, this is a goldmine. Double bookkeeping, offshore accounts, illegal VAT schemes. Your husband is breaking every law in the book.”
“And the assets?” I asked.
Alex turned his laptop toward me. “Here’s a gift deed for an apartment in his mother’s name, dated in the future. A preliminary car sale contract to a front man. And… large, regular transfers to a Sarah Miller.”
“That’s her,” I confirmed.
“We can block all of this,” Gregory said. “The deals haven’t been finalized. We’ll file a request to audit his company. And now… how about we put on a little show?” His eyes twinkled. “Alex is setting up a legal wiretap on his phone. He won’t know a thing. You just live your life. Go to work. Meet friends. If he calls, act like nothing’s wrong. Let him think his perfect plan is working.”
That evening, I called Lily. “How are you holding up?” she asked.
“Better,” I said. “Tomorrow, I’m going to a beauty salon.”
“What? Why?”
“I have an appointment,” I said, a grim smile on my face, “with Sarah Miller.”
The next day, after a brief, loving phone call from my cheating husband, I met Lily at the entrance to Eliza Salon. It was a sleek temple of glass and chrome. We booked a manicure, and I casually asked for the owner, Sarah, saying a friend had recommended her. We were in luck; she had an opening.
Sarah Miller was even more beautiful in person. A platinum blonde with a perfect figure and cold, blue eyes. As she expertly filed my nails, I steered the conversation.
“Beautiful photo,” I said, nodding to a framed picture on her desk. It was Sarah with a much older, distinguished-looking man.
“Thank you,” she smiled. “That’s my husband, Derek. He helped me open the salon.”
Husband. So, she was cheating, too.
“We’ve been married three years,” she chatted away, telling us about her rich husband, their upcoming trip to Dubai, the new Porsche he’d just bought her.
As we were paying, I let a casual comment drop. “My husband is always traveling, too. It gets lonely, doesn’t it?”
Sarah didn’t flinch. “Oh, one has to entertain oneself. Friends, shopping, fitness…”
And lovers, I added silently.
That evening, Gregory called. The wiretap was working. Mike had called Sarah, and he’d also called his accountant, trying to speed up a transfer. “We’ve blocked it,” Gregory said, “but he doesn’t know that yet. He flies back tomorrow evening, right?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. Greet him as usual. The day after tomorrow, we’ll pay a visit to his office with a search warrant.”
The show was about to begin.
I met Mike at the airport with a loving smile. At home, while he was in the shower, I checked his phone. Missed calls from Sarah and his accountant. A text from his mother: Son, when are you coming to sign the apartment documents?
At dinner, I watched him, so relaxed and pleased with himself after three days with his mistress. “You know, Rachel,” he said, “I’m thinking of taking a vacation. Just the two of us.”
“That sounds lovely,” I said, then added, “By the way, I got a manicure at that new place, Eliza Salon.”
He nearly choked on his wine. “And?”
“It was lovely. The owner, Sarah, did my nails herself. Such a nice woman. Married, you know. Her husband sounds very wealthy.”
The color drained from his face. The rest of the evening passed in a tense silence.
The next morning, he left for the office. “I’ll be at work all day, Rachel. Don’t wait up.”
At 9:30 a.m., Gregory called. “We’re on our way. I suggest you be nearby.”
I sat in a café across the street, sipping a coffee, and watched as three unmarked cars pulled up to the StroyGarret building. At 10:00 a.m. sharp, twenty officers poured out and entered the building. Within minutes, my phone exploded.
“Rachel!” Mike’s voice was a frantic, terrified shriek. “What’s going on? My office is being searched! They’re talking about financial fraud!”
“A search?” I feigned shock. “What for? I don’t know anything, Mike! I’m on my way!”
I finished my coffee and walked calmly across the street. The office was in chaos. Mike was sitting on a couch, pale as a sheet, his lawyer beside him. Gregory was directing the seizure of computers and documents.
“Rachel!” Mike jumped up. “Tell them this is a mistake!”
Just then, the door burst open and Sarah swept in, a vision in a tight dress and stilettos. “Mike, darling, what’s happening?” she cried, then froze when she saw me.
“I’m Mike’s wife,” I said evenly. “Rachel. And you are?”
“I… I’m his business partner,” she stammered.
“Oh, the one who did my manicure!” I exclaimed. “Small world!”
Mike looked like he was going to be sick.
“Ms. Miller,” Gregory said, turning to her. “What a coincidence. We have some questions for you as well. Your account has received some very large transfers from this company.”
“Payment for a… a design project,” she blurted out.
“A design project for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars?” Gregory arched an eyebrow. “Do you have a contract? Sketches?”
Just then, her phone rang. “Yes, Derek,” she answered, her voice trembling. “What? A search? Our house?” Her face turned chalk white. “Yes, I’ll be right there.”
“This is all a setup!” Mike roared as Gregory signaled for an officer to escort Sarah out. “Competitors! They want to destroy me!”
“You set this up, didn’t you?” he snarled at me, his eyes filled with a hatred so pure it was almost beautiful. “How could you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mike,” I said, my voice filled with a perfect, feigned innocence. I turned and walked out, leaving him in the wreckage of the life he had so carefully built on a foundation of lies.
The trial was three months later. The evidence was overwhelming. Mike was sentenced to seven years. Sarah’s husband divorced her, and her salon was seized. As for me? I got the apartment, the car, and my freedom.
A year later, on my thirty-second birthday, I sat in my new, sunny studio apartment. Lily was there, along with my new partner, Alex, a kind, funny man who knew how to listen. We were celebrating my new life, a life built on my own terms. The doorbell rang. It was a delivery. A small, exquisite painting of a Tuscan landscape. The card read: To the strongest woman I know. Happy Birthday. Gregory.
I looked around at my friends, at the sunlight streaming through the window, and I felt a profound sense of peace. Mike’s betrayal had nearly broken me, but in the end, it had made me stronger, freer, and happier than I had ever thought possible. He had tried to leave me with nothing. Instead, he had given me everything.