Holding our two kids' hands, I ran up Maplewood Lane with my heart hammering so loudly against my ribs that I could barely hear eight-year-old Fiona asking why I was crying.

By Thursday afternoon, the shockwaves of the Sterling Tower audit had completely obliterated what was left of Luca's carefully constructed illusion of success.

Federal agents had executed search warrants at Luca's commercial office space downtown, seizing all computers, financial ledgers, and company assets. His business accounts—funded entirely by the embezzlement scheme run through his uncle Harrison—had been frozen pending asset forfeiture hearings.

And Chloe Ruiz? The moment she realized Luca was facing up to ten years in federal prison for wire fraud and money laundering, she had packed her designer bags into her Honda Civic and fled to her parents' house in New Jersey, leaving Luca entirely alone in a cheap extended-stay motel off the highway.

I was sitting in the grand sunroom of our Manhattan penthouse, watching Fiona and Leo play with a brand-new set of building blocks on the plush Persian rug, when my private cell phone rang.

It was an unknown local number.

I let it ring twice before tapping accept.

“Jessi?” Luca's voice came through the speaker. It didn't sound like the confident, arrogant entrepreneur who had stood on our front porch on Monday afternoon demanding I pack my bags. It sounded small, cracked, and utterly desperate. “Jessi, please... you have to listen to me.”

“I'm listening, Luca,” I said evenly, watching the afternoon sun glint off the Chrysler Building in the distance.

“It was a mistake! All of it!” he sobbed, his voice cracked with genuine panic. “Uncle Harrison pushed me into the Apex contract! I didn't know it was illegal! And Chloe... Chloe meant nothing to me, she seduced me, Jessi! Please, drop the federal charges! Drop the audit! We can go to marriage counseling, we can fix our family—”

“Luca,” I interrupted, my voice as cold and hard as marble. “When you stood on that porch on Monday and watched your mistress order me off my own property while my children watched... did you think about our family?”

Silence stretched over the phone line, heavy and suffocating.

“When you signed the eviction papers and packed my clothes into trash bags while telling me my life had no value... did you think about our eleven years together?”

“I was stressed,” he whimpered pathetically. “I made a bad call.”

“You didn't make a bad call, Luca. You showed me exactly who you've always been: a parasite who mistook my patience for weakness.”

I took a slow, deep breath, feeling the last remaining ghosts of my past life wash away completely.

“The federal officials have all the bank records, Luca. My legal team is handling the asset recovery. And divorce papers will be served to your motel room by tomorrow morning. Don't ever call this number again.”