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    Home » My Ex, a Cashier, Started Driving a Sports Car and Wearing Designer Clothes – I Found Out That Money Actually Belonged to Me
    Lifestyle

    My Ex, a Cashier, Started Driving a Sports Car and Wearing Designer Clothes – I Found Out That Money Actually Belonged to Me

    ngankimBy ngankim24/02/20252 Mins Read
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    MY EX-HUSBAND THREW MONEY AT MY FACE—BUT THAT MONEY ACTUALLY BELONGED TO ME”

    A month ago, my husband, Brian, decided he wanted a divorce. His words: “I need freedom.”

    Fine. I let him go. No fighting. No begging. Just signed the papers and moved on.

    I hadn’t seen him since—until yesterday.

    I was in the parking lot of the grocery store when a sleek, black sports car pulled up next to me. The engine purred like it was fresh off the showroom floor.

    I turned my head—and nearly gasped.

    Brian.

    Except not the Brian I remembered.

    Gone was the guy in faded jeans and a grocery store name tag. Now? He was decked out in designer clothes, wearing a Rolex, and acting like he owned the world.

    I walked up, genuinely surprised. “Wow! Looks like you’re doing really well for yourself!”

    He smirked, pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet, and threw it at my face.

    “Not your business.”

    I stood there, stunned, watching him speed off.

    Something felt off. Brian was a cashier. No side hustle, no rich uncle. So where was this money coming from?

    And then—I found out.

    The Unbelievable Discovery
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    That night, I got an email from my bank. A notification about an “unusual withdrawal.”

    Confused, I logged in—and my stomach dropped.
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    $50,000. Gone.

    I dug deeper, pulling up my statements. Multiple withdrawals over the past month. And then I saw it—Brian’s name.
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    The account? Was in my name.

    It was a joint savings account I had forgotten to close after the divorce.

    And Brian? Had been draining it.

    My Perfect Revenge

    The next morning, I went straight to my lawyer. She barely blinked before saying, “Let’s fix this.”

    We filed a fraud claim.

    By the next day, Brian’s bank accounts were frozen. His shiny sports car? Repossessed. His designer watch? Pawned off to cover his debts.

    And then—the cherry on top.

    I ran into him again, this time outside his apartment complex.

    Gone were the designer clothes. Back to his old jeans and a grocery store name tag.

    He saw me and his face turned red.

    “You ruined me!” he spat.

    I smiled sweetly. “Not my business.”

    Then, I picked up a hundred-dollar bill… and threw it at him.

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