Chapter 2 - The Audit Begins
Wade stared at me for three seconds, waiting for me to break. He expected the usual routine: the tears, the frantic defense of my character, the exhausted capitulation where I would apologize just to stop the shouting because I was too tired to fight.
He didn't get it.
Instead, I reached down, pulled my phone off the nightstand, and unlocked it with a single thumb press.
"What are you doing?" Wade asked, his voice tightening. He took a step toward the bed, as if he wanted to snatch the device from my hand. "Put that down. We are going to have a serious talk about your attitude."
"Don't come any closer, Wade," I said softly.
The tone in my voice made him freeze. It wasn't the voice of a supplicant wife. It was the voice I used when a corporate client tried to push scope creep past a signed contract—cold, professional, and absolute.
I opened the banking app. Then I opened my cloud storage drive. Then I opened the PDF archive containing the certified property deed registered with the Denver Clerk and Recorder’s Office on August 14, 2021.
"You asked who pays the roof over our heads, Wade," I said, holding the screen up so the blue light illuminated the damp collar of his shirt. "Let's review the ledger."
I swiped to the amortization schedule.
"Property Address: 742 Meridian Street, Unit 702. Purchase Date: August 14, 2021. Purchase Price: $410,000. Down payment: $310,000 cash, wired from a verified personal account held solely in the name of Ivy Bennett. Remaining balance financed: $100,000, amortized over fifteen years, paid in full via automatic debit from my business account on May 2nd, 2023—three months before we walked down the aisle."
Wade’s face went slack. The color drained from his skin, leaving him looking pasty and small under the morning light.
"That... that doesn't mean anything," he stammered, though his voice lacked any conviction. "We’re married. Community property laws—"
"In Colorado, pre-acquired property remains separate property unless deeded otherwise," I recited smoothly, quoting the statute I had memorized during a sleepless night three months ago when I first discovered the second tier of his gambling debts. "And my name is the only name on the warranty deed. Not yours. Not mine and yours. Mine. Sole proprietor, sole owner."
Evelyn, sensing her son losing ground, pushed past him into the bedroom, her eyes wide with indignation. "Lies! Absolute lies! A young woman doesn't buy a half-million-dollar apartment on her own! You manipulated my son! You trapped him!"
I looked at Evelyn, letting out a dry, humorless laugh. "I met your son when I was twenty-nine, Evelyn. He was driving a ten-year-old Ford Taurus with a busted muffler and living in a dingy rental over a dry cleaner. I bought this condo three months before I ever set eyes on him at a crowded art gallery opening."
I turned my attention back to Wade.
"You moved in here three weeks after we got engaged because your landlord evicted you for non-payment of rent," I continued, every word landing like a hammer driving a nail. "You promised you’d pay half the HOA fees and utilities. In three years, you have contributed exactly zero dollars to the principal, the interest, or the structural maintenance of this building. In fact, the only thing you've added to this condo is gambling debt notices delivered to our mailbox."
Wade’s chest heaved. He looked over his shoulder at his mother, panic flashing in his eyes. "Mom, she’s... she’s making this up. She’s postpartum. She’s hallucinating."
"Am I?"
I tapped the screen, switching applications to a secured folder labeled Confidential—Financial Forensics.
"On November 12th of last year, while I was eight months pregnant and sleeping in the other room because my hips hurt too much to share the mattress, you transferred $14,500 from our joint household buffer account to an online sportsbook registered in Curaçao," I said. My voice didn't waver. "On January 4th, you took a cash advance of $8,200 on my emergency credit card. And three weeks ago—while I was in active labor at Presbyterian St. Luke’s—you used my laptop to apply for a $20,000 personal loan using my business EIN without my consent."
The room grew so quiet I could hear the hum of the refrigerator down the hall.
Wade’s mouth opened and closed twice. No sound came out.
Evelyn looked between her son and me, her brow furrowing as the ugly, undeniable truth began to pierce through her stubborn denial. "Wade? What is she talking about? What loan?"
"Mom, shut up!" Wade finally snapped, wheeling around to face her with venom in his eyes. "Just shut your mouth! You don't know anything about this!"
"Oh, I know plenty," I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
The movement sent a searing bolt of pain across my lower stomach, but I bit my lip, refusing to let them see me wince. I stood up, holding Leo securely against my chest, towering over Wade despite being wrapped in a wet, oversized pajama top.
"Here are the rules, Wade," I said, stepping past him toward the hallway. "Your mother has ten minutes to pack her things and leave. If she is not out of this apartment by eight-thirty, I will call the building security and have her escorted off the premises."
"You can't kick my mother out!" Wade yelled, following me into the hallway. "This is insane! You're freezing us out over a bucket of water? It was a joke! A prank to loosen you up! You've been a miserable, cold robot since the baby came!"
"A joke," I repeated, stopping near the kitchen island.
I set Leo down safely in his portable bassinet, then turned to face my husband.
"Dumping ice water over a woman whose abdominal wall was surgically sliced open ten days ago is a joke. Stealing twenty thousand dollars behind my back while I push your child out of my body is a joke."
May you like
I walked to the front door, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the heavy wood wide open, letting the cool morning air rush into the apartment.
"Get out," I whispered.
