The argument, the final one, was the fuse. It started, like always, with money, or more accurately, the lack thereof. Marcus was talking yet again about his century project, the sprawling lake house he was building. It wasn’t meant to be just a vacation home. It was supposed to be a mansion, a palace designed to impress his superiors and the right people at the city council. That house had already sucked up every dime of our savings.
Then came the credit cards and personal loans. Now, it turned out, we had a new set of immediate debts. «Naomi, I need another $75,000,» he tossed out that morning, not even looking up from his plate of scrambled eggs.
He spoke about the sum as if he were asking me to pass the salt. I froze, coffee mug in hand. «Marcus, where are we going to get it? We already owe the bank nearly a quarter of a million dollars. My salary as an administrator at the regional manufacturing hub barely covers the interest payments and groceries.»
He finally looked at me. His gaze was cold, as if I wasn’t his wife, but an irritating distraction. «I’m not asking where we’re going to get it. I’m telling you, I already finalized the details with the contractors. I need the money by the end of the day.»
«Finalized?» The word rang metallic in my voice. «You finalized this without consulting me? Again, Marcus? This house is going to ruin us. It’s a bottomless pit.»
«This house is our future!» He slammed his hand on the table, making the silverware rattle. «You don’t understand that, because your mind works like a payroll clerk at the plant. I’m building a career. I need to be seen. I need respect. When the state senator comes to visit, he needs to see a certain level, not your little vegetable garden.»
«My little vegetable garden, at least, feeds us,» I snapped back. It was the wrong thing to say. Marcus jumped up, his face twisted with rage.
«I am sick of your complaining, sick of your pettiness. You are dragging me down. I’ll handle this myself. Get dressed. We’re leaving.»
«Leaving? Where?» I asked, bewildered. «To meet with someone at his office. We need to sign some papers. I’ll explain on the way, but don’t bring anything.»
He scanned me critically. «Leave your purse and your phone. This is a confidential discussion.» His tone allowed for no arguments.
I had grown used to obeying him. Over the years of our marriage, he had systematically chipped away at my will, convincing me that I understood nothing about serious business, that my place was at home while he climbed the ladder of success. I nodded silently, grabbed a light jacket, and followed him to the car.
We drove in silence. The city fell behind, replaced by dreary suburban strip malls and desolate roads. I tried several times to ask where we were going and what papers he meant, but Marcus just waved me off.
His profile was taut as a wire. After about 30 minutes, he suddenly veered off the highway onto a narrow, poorly paved road that led toward some rural vacation homes. The car went another 500 yards and stopped next to a dilapidated bus shelter.
There was no one around, just empty fields and a distant line of trees. «Get out,» he said curtly. «Why?» I didn’t understand.
«Get out, I said. We’re here.» I obediently opened the door and stepped onto the shoulder. The wind immediately whipped my hair around.
I turned, expecting him to get out too. But Marcus didn’t even turn off the engine. He just stared at me through the windshield.
«Marcus, what’s going on? Where is this person?» He smiled, a cruel, unfamiliar smile. «There is no person, Naomi. There’s only you and your problem with money. You didn’t want to help, so figure out your problems on your own.»
The realization dawned on me slowly, chillingly. «What do you mean?» «I mean I’m leaving you, and your debts, and your constant whining. I’m starting a new life, and you can start yours right here.»
With those words, he floored the gas. The car sped away, kicking up a cloud of dust. I stood frozen in the middle of the road, utterly alone.
I couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be happening. It was a stupid, cruel joke.
He would turn around and come back, laughing. But the car didn’t turn around. It shrank into a speck and vanished around the bend.
The silence that followed was deafening. I mechanically shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. Empty. No wallet, no phone.
He had taken everything. A panicked thought flashed in my mind. Eighteen miles to the city, on foot.
How long would that take? Six hours? Seven? I’d arrive well after dark.
Despair rose in my throat like an icy wave. I slumped onto the shaky wooden bench under the rusted metal roof of the shelter. Tears streamed from my eyes.
How could he? After 15 years of marriage, just toss me out of the car on the side of the highway like a piece of garbage? I didn’t immediately notice that I wasn’t alone.
In the darkest corner, huddled in a ball, sat an elderly woman. She wore an old but well-made coat, and her eyes were hidden by large, dark sunglasses. The kind blind people wear.
Her head was bowed. She seemed to be sleeping. I nearly jumped at the surprise.
I sat there for probably 20 minutes, trying to stop shaking and figure out what to do. A few cars sped past, paying me no attention. I tried to lift my hand to flag one down, but the drivers only accelerated.
No one wanted to stop for a lone woman on a desolate road. The sun began to dip toward the horizon. It was getting chilly, and suddenly the old woman stirred.
She lifted her head, and without turning toward me, spoke in a dry, rasping voice, «Stop crying. Tears won’t help your troubles.» I jumped and stared at her.
«Husband dumped you?» the old woman asked indifferently. I only managed a choked sob in reply. «I see,» she nodded.
«They’re all the same. First, they’re your rock and protection, and then it’s a knife in the back.» She paused, tapping the concrete floor with the tip of a thin cane I hadn’t noticed before.
«Want to make him regret it today?» I looked at her incredulously. What could this poor, blind old woman offer?
«How?» The woman slowly turned her head in my direction. The lenses of her glasses were completely black.
«My personal driver is coming for me now. Pretend you’re my granddaughter. You’ll get in the car and we’ll leave, and your husband will regret leaving you next to the wealthiest woman in this city.»
My breath hitched. It sounded like nonsense. «What wealthy woman? What granddaughter?»
The old woman seemed to read my mind. «You have a choice. You can sit here and wait for the night, or you can get into a warm car and change your life. Decide.»
At that very moment, a long, black luxury sedan appeared around the bend. It moved slowly, silently, like a predator. The car gently braked right at the shelter.
I recognized the make and couldn’t believe my eyes. I’d only seen cars like that in movies about tycoons. A man in a sharp suit and gloves got out.
He walked around the car and opened the rear door. «Ms. Vance, we are ready to depart,» he said with the deepest respect. «Ms. Vance,» the old woman, she slowly rose, leaning on her cane.
«Darius, wait. My granddaughter is riding with us today.» The driver, without a flicker of surprise, simply nodded and looked at me.
His gaze was completely neutral. He was waiting. I didn’t have time to think.
The fear of the unknown was strong, but the fear of staying here, in the dark, on this cursed road, was stronger. I stood up and, as if in a dream, walked toward the car. The driver held the door for me.
I slid onto the soft leather seat. The interior smelled of expensive leather and something else, subtly calm and authoritative. The old woman sat beside me.
The door closed soundlessly, sealing me off from the wind, the dust, and my former life. The car pulled away so smoothly, I barely felt it. We drove in complete silence.
Fields and small woods sped past the window. I had no idea where I was being taken. I expected to see a luxurious mansion in the city center, but the car turned onto a different road than another, and soon we were in front of a towering solid fence with no windows.
The gates silently parted, and we drove onto the property. It wasn’t just a house, it was a fortress, a massive home of dark brick, surveillance cameras on every corner, a perfectly manicured lawn, and not a single flower. No cozy feeling, only security and functionality.
The driver opened the doors for us. «Ms. Vance, any instructions?» «You’re free, Darius. I’ll call you if I need you.»
We went inside. The interior was as stark and impersonal as the outside. A huge hall, expensive but austere furniture, not a single photograph on the walls.
«Come in,» the old woman said, pointing her cane toward the living room. I walked over and sat on the edge of a stiff sofa. The old woman remained standing in the middle of the room.
She stood motionless for several seconds, and then she did what I absolutely did not expect. She removed the dark sunglasses and looked at me. Her eyes were not blind.
They were incredibly vibrant, sharp, and piercing, intelligent, cold, all-seeing eyes. «My name is Eleanor Vance,» she said in a completely different authoritative voice, «and you, Naomi Sterling, are 38 years old, and you work as an administrator at the steel mill. Your husband’s name is Marcus Sterling. He’s 42. He’s a minor official in the city council aiming for higher office. All correct?»
I was paralyzed. I couldn’t utter a word, only managed a nod. «That’s good.»
Eleanor Vance walked to the bar, poured a glass of water, and held it out to me. «Drink. You’ll need your strength.» I took the glass with trembling hands.
«Where… where do you know all this? And why… why were you pretending?» Eleanor Vance smiled faintly. «In this city, I know everything about everyone who matters, or who thinks they matter, and I was pretending because it’s useful. People aren’t afraid of the blind, and they say things in front of them that they’d never say to someone who can see.»
«I often sit there, observing, listening. Today, I got lucky. I saw an interesting performance.»
She settled into the armchair opposite me. «Your husband is a parasite, a petty, ambitious, and foolish parasite. He took on enormous debt to build a showy house and throw dust in the eyes of important people, and now he decided to get rid of you and your apartment to pay for it. Am I right?»
I nodded again. «The apartment. It was my parents’ apartment. The only thing that was truly mine.»
«I will help you,» Eleanor Vance stated firmly. «I will give you everything you need. Clothing, a phone, the best lawyers. We will get your apartment and your good name back, but it won’t be free.»
«What do you want in return?» I whispered. «You will owe me. You can consider it a favor or a debt. You’ll decide that yourself. When the time comes, I will ask for a favor in return, but for now, you will do exactly what I tell you. Deal?»
I looked into those hard, unblinking eyes. I knew I was making a deal with the devil, but the devil was offering me salvation, while the husband who had sworn to love me had left me to die on the roadside. «Deal,» I said.
Eleanor Vance nodded, satisfied. She seemed not to have doubted my answer for a second. At that moment, something clicked in my mind.
A memory that my brain, frightened and humiliated, had blocked until now. A picture of the last seconds at that bus stop. I remembered Marcus’s car starting, how I watched it drive away, and how, even as I drove off in Eleanor’s black sedan, I had cast one last look back at the spot where I was abandoned, and I saw it.
Marcus’s car hadn’t left. It was parked about a hundred yards farther down the road, hidden just around the curve. He hadn’t just driven away.
He had stopped. He was watching. He was observing me, making sure I was left alone, helpless, and in complete despair.
He hadn’t just wanted to abandon me. He wanted to savor my humiliation to the last drop. Only when another car arrived and picked me up did he finally leave.
A cold horror, far stronger than despair, pierced me. This hadn’t been an argument. It hadn’t been an impulsive act.
This was a planned, cold-blooded, cruel performance, where I was assigned the role of the victim, and he, the audience. The realization burned inside me, displacing the tears and confusion. In their place came a cold, wringing rage.
The glass in my hand trembled, and a few drops of water fell onto the expensive upholstery. I didn’t even notice. My entire being was focused on one single thought.
He didn’t just abandon me. He enjoyed my suffering. Eleanor Vance watched the change in my expression with undisguised approval.
«That’s better,» she said, and there was something akin to satisfaction in her voice. «Hatred is much better fuel than self-pity. You can travel far on it.»
She pressed a button on a small remote control lying on the table. A minute later, a woman in a severe gray dress, looking like a housekeeper from an old film, silently entered the room. «Estelle, show Naomi to the guest room. Let her take a shower. Prepare clothing, undergarments, everything she needs. Size 10, I believe. And bring us dinner here, to the living room. Something simple.»
Estelle nodded, didn’t even glance at me, and said, «Follow me, please.» I silently got up and followed her. The guest room was as large and impersonal as the rest of the house.
In the bathroom, on the snow-white shelves, were new unopened bottles of shampoo and shower gel. A new toothbrush lay ready. On the bed, clothing was neatly laid out.
Dark trousers, a neutral beige cashmere sweater, a set of undergarments. Everything was expensive, high-quality, and utterly devoid of individuality, like a uniform. After showering and changing, I felt a little better.
The warm water washed away some of the shock, and the clean clothes gave me a fragile sense of control. When I returned to the living room, dinner was already set on the table. Roasted chicken, salad, sliced bread, and two more people.
One was Darius, the driver. He stood by the wall, hands clasped behind his back, motionless as a statue. The second man, about 50 years old, in a flawless suit and thin-rimmed glasses, sat in an armchair.
He had the face of a man who never smiled. «Naomi, sit down. Eat something,» Eleanor Vance said.
«This is Mr. Josiah Wells, my lawyer. He will be handling your affairs.» The lawyer adjusted his glasses and looked at me with dry, indifferent eyes.
«Naomi Sterling, based on preliminary information, your husband committed an act that could be qualified as abandonment in a dangerous situation. However, proving malicious intent will be virtually impossible. He will claim you argued, you exited the car voluntarily, and he drove off while distraught.»
«There are no witnesses, so forget that. That was merely the prelude.» His words were precise and cold, like scalpel cuts.
«The priority now is your property, specifically the apartment you inherited from your parents. This is your personal property, not subject to division in a divorce. He has no rights to it, but the fact that he took a step like today suggests he is ready to act unconventionally.»
«What should I do?» I asked quietly. Eleanor Vance interjected again. She picked up a new, still-boxed smartphone from the table.
«This is your new phone. The number is clean, unregistered anywhere. Communication only through this. Consider your old number lost. It has only two numbers saved, Mr. Wells’s and mine. You don’t need anyone else.»
She paused. «Now go home.» I looked up at her, surprised.
«Why?» «To see what he has truly done,» Eleanor replied. «You think he just threw you out on the highway? That was only the beginning. You must see everything with your own eyes. Feel it. Understand who you are dealing with.»
«Darius will take you.» A sense of strength, mixed with fear, filled me again. With such support, I felt almost invulnerable.
I had the best lawyer. I had a patroness, who clearly the entire city feared. Marcus was just a small-time official.
What could he possibly do? Darius drove as smoothly and silently as the first time. We entered the city, which was already sinking into evening twilight.
Familiar streets, houses, shops, and then our block. My heart pounded faster. «I’ll wait here,» Darius said unemotionally, as I got out of the car.
I nodded and walked toward the entrance. My hands were shaking a little. I imagined opening the door with my key, and him sitting in the living room, confident that I was wandering somewhere on a dark highway.
I imagined his face when he saw me on the threshold, strong, calm, ready for war. I went up to my third-floor apartment. There it was, the familiar leather-clad door.
I took my set of keys from the pocket of the jacket I’d left in the car that morning. I put the key into the keyhole, and it wouldn’t turn. I froze, tried again.
The key only went in halfway and hit something. I pulled it out, looked at it as if the key were to blame, then inserted it again. Same result.
The panic I had so carefully suppressed began to rise from the depths of my soul. I tried the second key for the bottom lock. The same thing.
The locks were new. He had changed the locks. I recoiled from the door as if struck.
This couldn’t be. This was my apartment. The apartment where I grew up, where it smelled like my mother’s pie and my father’s books.
He couldn’t. He had no right. I hit the door hard, several times with my fist.
«Marcus, open up. I know you’re in there. Open this door now.»
Silence. Not a sound. Not a whisper.
Only a curious neighbor peered out from the landing above, but seeing me, she quickly disappeared behind her door. My hands instinctively reached for the new phone. I found Mr. Wells’s number.
The lawyer answered instantly, as if he had been waiting. «Yes, Mr. Wells. It’s Naomi. He changed the locks. I can’t get into my own apartment.»
«I expected this,» he replied calmly. «Call the sheriff’s department. Tell them that unknown individuals changed the locks on your apartment, and you cannot get home. Not a word about your husband. Just unknown individuals. Wait for them. I am on my way.»
Calling the police seemed so absurd. Calling the police just to get into my own home. I dialed 911 and explained the situation to the dispatcher with a trembling voice.
They promised a squad car would arrive. The wait was agonizing. I sat on the steps, huddled, staring at my door, which had suddenly become alien and hostile.
After 20 minutes, two officers appeared on the landing. A young deputy with a tired face and his older partner. «You called?» The deputy asked lazily. «What’s the situation?»
I stood up and tried to explain. «This is my apartment. I came home and my keys don’t work. The locks have been changed.»
«Do you have the documents for the apartment? Your ID?» The older officer asked. «Everything’s inside,» I replied helplessly. «I left this morning without my purse.»
The deputy scoffed skeptically. «I see. Well, we can’t legally break down the door. Maybe you sold it? Or maybe relatives live here?»
Just then, the entrance door downstairs slammed and fast footsteps sounded on the stairs. Marcus appeared on the landing, but he wasn’t alone. Walking beside him, holding his arm, was a young, beautiful woman in an elegant business suit.
Tiffany Chambers, the district attorney’s daughter. I knew her from the city events I sometimes attended with my husband. Marcus looked calm and confident.
He even feigned concern on his face. «Naomi, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why aren’t you answering your phone?»
He addressed me, but his eyes were on the officers. «Gentlemen, is something wrong? This is my wife. She’s going through a difficult period. A bit unstable.»
Tiffany stood silently beside him, eyeing me with contempt. And then I saw it. Around Tiffany’s neck was a thin gold chain with a small, irregularly shaped pearl.
It was my mother’s pendant, the one valuable piece of jewelry I kept in a box in the bedroom. Tiffany, catching my eye, casually touched the pearl with her fingers. A slight, triumphant smile touched the corners of her lips.
«Your wife claims she can’t get into the apartment,» the deputy said, and his tone had already changed. He was looking at the respectable, confident man, not the disheveled woman without documents. «Ah, that.» Marcus sighed sympathetically. «Yes, I was forced to change the locks. For her own safety and ours.»
«We’re divorcing. Naomi has been having episodes of aggression lately.» He took a few papers from a folder and handed them to the police.
«This is a copy of the divorce petition. And this, this is a restraining order. She’s forbidden to approach me or this apartment. Her doctor strongly recommended it.»
I stared at him, my vision darkening. Divorce, restraining order, doctor. What lies? What monstrous, calculated lies?
«That’s not true,» I screamed. «He’s lying about everything. This is my apartment.»
«Calm down, ma’am,» the deputy said sternly, examining the papers. «This is all official. It has a seal.»
At that moment, Mr. Wells came up to the landing. He nodded silently to me and addressed the officers. «I am Naomi Sterling’s attorney. What is happening here?»
Marcus scanned him with an appraising look. «And who might you be?» «My client cannot access her own property. According to the documents, the apartment belongs to her by right of inheritance.»
«It was her property,» Marcus corrected calmly. His eyes gleamed. He had been waiting for this moment.
He was relishing it. The older officer, having finished reading the last paper, looked up and glanced at me with ill-concealed pity. «Ma’am, I’m afraid you no longer have rights to this apartment. According to this document, filed with the county recorder’s office, you are no longer the owner.»
Mr. Wells frowned. «What document? Show me.» Marcus, with the same mocking smile, handed him another sheet.
The lawyer quickly skimmed it. His face became impenetrable for the first time. He silently passed the paper to me.
It was a purchase and sale agreement, dated two weeks prior. It stated that I, Naomi Ann Sterling, had sold my three-bedroom apartment in the city center to my husband, Marcus David Sterling, for a symbolic sum of $25,000, and at the bottom, beneath the text, was my signature. Clear, neat, identical to my actual signature, down to the last flourish, perfect and absolutely 100% fake.
I looked at the paper, and only one thought was in my head. This can’t be. This simply cannot be.
I would never sell my apartment, never, not for any amount of money. «This, this is forgery,» I whispered, unable to tear my gaze from the fake signature. Mr. Wells took the contract from me and examined it closely.
«Yes, it’s obvious,» he said without lifting his head. «The signature is very skillfully done, but there are signs indicating it’s not the original.» Marcus sneered. «Don’t make me laugh, Counselor. All my documents are in order, notarized. If your client had a change of heart, that’s her problem.»
«This contract has no legal force,» Mr. Wells stated firmly. «We will file a police report for document forgery and fraud, and I am confident that an expert analysis will confirm we are right.» «Go ahead and file,» Marcus shrugged. «That’s your right. I just fear that by then your client will have nowhere to live, or anything else.»
«By the way, gentlemen,» he turned back to the deputy. «I’d like to add another point to my statement. I suspect my wife stole a large sum of money from the apartment and is hiding from me.»
I gasped. «What are you talking about? What money?» «Don’t pretend, Naomi,» Marcus cooed sweetly. «You know exactly what I’m talking about. You took all my savings, every last penny, and now you’re trying to run away.»
«That’s a lie,» I screamed. «I didn’t take anything.» The officers exchanged glances.
The situation was getting more and more complicated. A domestic dispute, divorce, an apartment, money. They clearly didn’t want to get involved.
«All right, folks,» the deputy said. «We need to file a report. Let’s go down to the precinct and sort this out.»
«I’ll go with you,» Mr. Wells declared. Marcus nodded to Tiffany. She took keys from her purse and opened the apartment door.
«Excuse me, officers, but I must leave. I have an important meeting. Marcus, call me.»
She shot me a look of contempt and disappeared into the apartment, leaving the door ajar. Marcus watched her go and turned to me with a triumphant smile. «Well, Naomi, is this where you land? Left without an apartment, without money, and now you’ll be branded a thief. Who will believe you? I have everything tied up. You’re nobody.»
I looked at him and saw nothing but pure hatred. He had turned into a monster, a malicious, vengeful, and utterly unprincipled monster. And I suddenly realized I had lost.
He had outmaneuvered me. He had destroyed me. The officers led Mr. Wells and me toward the squad car.
I walked as if in a fog, feeling neither the ground beneath my feet, nor the cold, nor the shame, only emptiness. We spent several hours at the precinct, filing a report, questioning, explaining. It was all useless.
The police were clearly siding with Marcus. They asked me leading questions, pressured me, tried to confuse me. Mr. Wells tried to object, but they wouldn’t listen to his arguments.
Finally, in the early morning, they let us go. I left the precinct completely shattered and drained. Mr. Wells silently led me to his car.
«I’ll take you back to Ms. Vance,» he said. We drove the whole way in silence. I stared out the window, seeing nothing but my defeat.
I had nowhere to go. I had no money. I was homeless.
And what was worse, I was powerless. Marcus had stolen everything from me, even my identity. At Eleanor Vance’s house, I was met with reserve.
Estelle showed me to my room and silently brought me breakfast. Eleanor Vance summoned me only after lunch. She sat in her armchair like a queen on a throne.
There was neither sympathy nor regret in her eyes, only a cold, assessing gaze. «Well, Naomi,» she asked, «did you finish playing the victim? I gave you every opportunity to fight, and what did you do? You allowed yourself to be destroyed.»
I said nothing. I didn’t know what to say. «Do you understand that you are now nobody?» Eleanor Vance continued.
«Homeless, jobless, with a ruined reputation. Your husband did everything to destroy you, and I must admit, he succeeded.» «What should I do?» I asked quietly.
«What should you do?» Eleanor Vance sneered contemptuously. «Sue. File a claim in court. Prove that the purchase and sale agreement is fake. Demand an expert analysis. Hire detectives.»
«It’s long, expensive, and most likely useless. Your husband has everything locked down. You’ll waste a year of your life and a heap of money, and in the end, you’ll accomplish nothing.»
«But what should I do then?» I cried out in desperation. «Fight,» Eleanor Vance cut in. «But not in court. All’s fair in love and war. Reputation is the most valuable thing you have left, and it can be used.»
«Marcus wants everyone to think you’re an alcoholic and a thief. Fine. We will make sure everyone sees who he really is.»
«How? Publicly? He’s playing politics. He wants to be a respected man.»
«Then we will attack his reputation. We will make his name synonymous with corruption and deception.» «But how can we do that? He has everything locked down. No one will believe me.»
«Belief is irrelevant,» Eleanor Vance replied. «What matters is that people talk about it. What matters is that his name is on everyone’s lips. What matters is creating a public outcry so massive that even his patrons can’t protect him.»
She paused, looking at me with her piercing eyes. «Tomorrow, there’s a charity gala downtown. All the city’s elite will be there. Politicians, businessmen, officials. And your husband is giving a speech. That’s your chance.»
«What do I need to do?» «You need to go there,» Eleanor Vance replied, «and ask him just one question. Publicly, in front of everyone. And that question must be one he cannot answer.»
«What question?» «You’ll find out,» Eleanor Vance smiled. «Now go get ready. Estelle will give you a dress. You must look flawless. You must show everyone that you are not broken. You must be a queen.»
I left Eleanor Vance’s study with a sense of vague unease. I didn’t know what awaited me. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.
But I knew one thing. I would no longer be a victim. I would fight.
Estelle did bring me dresses. Evening wear. Elegant, perfectly fitted.
She also did my hair and makeup. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself. Before me stood a different woman.
Strong, confident, ready for battle. Darius drove me to the building where the gala was taking place. People in evening attire were milling around the entrance.
Music played and camera flashes popped. I got out of the car and, head held high, walked toward the doors. I felt as if I were walking a tightrope, aware of the gazes of hundreds of eyes.
People recognized me, whispered, and looked back. But no one dared to approach. I entered the hall and froze.
The luxurious decorations, the crystal chandeliers, the exquisite appetizers. It all seemed like a backdrop from someone else’s life. I saw Marcus.
He was standing on the stage, surrounded by important officials and businessmen, speaking into a microphone. His face shone with smug self-satisfaction. I began to make my way toward the stage.
People parted before me as if I were a ghost. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I had to do this.
I had to ask that question. Marcus finished his speech and the hall erupted in applause. He came down from the stage and headed toward the exit.
This was my chance. I intercepted him right at the door. «Marcus,» I said loudly.
He flinched and turned around. Seeing me, he was speechless for a moment. His face twisted with fury.
«What are you doing here? How did you get in?» «Tell me, Marcus,» I said calmly, looking him straight in the eyes. «Where did you get the right to sell my mother’s apartment?»
Silence fell over the hall. All eyes were fixed on us. Marcus went pale.
He tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat. And then, as if from nowhere, Tiffany stepped between us. She grabbed Marcus’s arm and pulled him aside.
«Don’t pay attention to her,» Tiffany said loudly, addressing the crowd. «She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She has a mental disorder.»
She pulled her phone from her clutch. «See for yourselves.» She pressed a button, and the sound came from the phone’s speaker.
The sound of a drunken, slurring voice. My voice. An image appeared on the phone screen.
I saw myself. I was sitting at a table at some party. I was drunk.
I was laughing, mumbling something, and incoherently singing some song. The video had been filmed a few weeks earlier at my nephew’s birthday party. I remembered that evening.
I had too much wine, but I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was just having fun. Tiffany stopped the recording.
«See,» she said, looking at the crowd. «She doesn’t even remember what happened last night. What makes you think she knows anything about paperwork?»
A silence fell over the hall. But this was a different silence. Not tense and expectant, but sympathetic and judgmental.
Someone chuckled. Someone else snorted contemptuously. Someone shook their head.
I felt my face burn with shame. I wasn’t just embarrassed. I was humiliated.
I had been made a laughingstock, trampled into the dirt. Tiffany smiled triumphantly. «You see what she’s really like? A miserable, drunken woman who is trying to ruin the life of a successful man. Don’t believe her. She’s lying.»
The crowd began to disperse. People turned away from me as if I were a leper. No one wanted anything to do with me.
I stood alone in the middle of the hall, humiliated, disgraced, and crushed. My attempt to fight had turned into a complete failure. Marcus and Tiffany had won.
They had destroyed me completely and irrevocably. I didn’t remember how I left the hall. The snickers and whispers merged into a single buzzing swarm that followed me to the exit.
I stood on the cold porch, hugging myself, watching the cars drive by. I wanted to disappear, to dissolve, to sink into the ground. At that moment, the familiar black sedan stopped silently beside me.
Darius got out, opened the back door, and simply looked at me. No words, no questions. He just waited.
I silently got into the car. We drove the whole way to Eleanor Vance’s estate in complete silence. I stared out the window at the city lights but only saw my reflection in the glass, a woman in an expensive dress with smeared makeup and empty eyes.
Eleanor’s plan had failed. No, I had failed it. I was a victim again, only this time a public one.
The next morning brought new blows. First, my boss from the plant, Mr. Thompson, called me. His voice was dry and official.
«Naomi Sterling, good morning. Due to the current situation and the public scandal that could damage our company’s reputation, management has made a decision. You are on indefinite suspension without pay.»
«But Mr. Thompson, that’s not true.» I tried to object. «It’s all slander.»
«I don’t know.» He cut me off. «And I don’t want to know. We run a serious business, not a place for family disputes. The documents will be sent to you by courier. Goodbye.»
The line went dead. I was fired, politely, legally, but it was a termination. I tried to call my only close friend who worked in the same department as me.
The phone rang, but no one picked up. An hour later, a short text arrived. «Naomi, sorry, can’t talk right now. And please don’t call me again. I have a family and kids, and I don’t need problems.»
I had become a pariah. Marcus and Tiffany had turned me into a social outcast overnight. Eleanor Vance summoned me only that evening.
She was furious, but her anger was not directed at Marcus. «You’re weak,» she spat out as soon as I crossed the threshold of her study. «I put a weapon in your hands, and you let him knock it out of your grasp and use that same weapon to beat you. You stepped into the ring and gave up after the first punch.»
«But what could I do?» I whispered. «She showed that video.» «You should have been ready for it,» Eleanor interrupted.
«Didn’t you know your husband? Didn’t you know what kind of treachery he was capable of? The lawsuit for signature forgery is now an empty threat.»
«Mr. Wells has already found out everything. The experts in our city are bought. They will conclude that the signature is genuine.»
«They’ll say you signed the contract while in an incapacitated state and now simply don’t remember it. That video is the perfect confirmation. The case will be closed before it even opens.»
«You lost.» Eleanor’s words were ruthless, but fair. I sank into the chair, feeling completely powerless.
All paths were blocked. The court, the police, public opinion, everything was on Marcus’ side. «So, this is the end?» I asked hollowly.
«For the weak, yes,» Eleanor replied coldly. «For those who fight, no, think. There must be something he didn’t account for.»
«Some small detail, some document that he couldn’t fake. Something that will prove your undeniable right to that apartment.» I closed my eyes, trying to focus.
I went through everything related to the apartment in my memory. And suddenly, an image flashed into my mind. The old blue folder.
My father kept all the most important documents in it. Birth certificates, diplomas, and yes, the original privatization agreement for the apartment and the certificate of inheritance. The originals, with live signatures, seals, and watermarks.
Marcus couldn’t fake those documents. «I have it,» I said, opening my eyes. «The originals, the genuine contract and the certificate of inheritance.»
«With those, any lawyer can prove the purchase and sale agreement is a sham.» «Where are they?» Eleanor asked immediately. «At our old family cabin in Willow Creek. My father always kept the most important papers there. He didn’t trust city apartments. He said they were easier to steal from there.»
«Good,» Eleanor nodded. «This is a chance, but we must act quickly and quietly. No one must know you’re going there, especially your husband.»
That very night, I set out. Darius drove me to the outskirts of the settlement and dropped me off. «You have two hours,» he said. «Then I will be waiting in this exact spot. If you don’t show, I leave. Eleanor Vance does not like it when her people get caught doing stupid things.»
I nodded. I walked through the dark, deserted streets of the old vacation community. Our cabin stood right on the edge of the woods.
A small, rickety house where I spent my whole childhood. There was no electricity or running water here. Marcus hated the place and called it a shack.
We hadn’t been here in several years. The tall fence my father had built was leaning. The gate was secured with a rusted lock.
I had to climb over the fence, scraping my arm painfully. But I ignored it. The fear of being caught spurred me on.
The house door was also locked. I went around the house, checking the windows. One that faced the garden gave way.
