Chapter 3 - The Restraining Order
The cold rain began to fall again, soaking through my suit jacket as I stared at the two officers.
“A restraining order?” I stuttered, my mind spinning out of control. “I’m her husband! I haven't touched her! I have never laid a hand on my wife!”
Natalie stepped out onto the porch, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated coldness. She tapped the screen of her tablet.
“You don't have to hit a woman to destroy her, Daniel,” Natalie said, her voice dripping with venom. “You left a woman three weeks post-C-section without food in the house while you were in Miami. You restricted her access to the main bank accounts while transferring her own inheritance to your mistress. You told her she was ‘crazy’ and ‘paranoid’ whenever she asked why you smelled like perfume.”
“Natalie, please!” I begged, taking a step toward the porch. “I made mistakes! I know I fucked up! Just let me speak to Claire for five minutes! Let me see Hope!”
“Sir! Step back now!” the taller officer snapped, stepping onto the porch stairs and unclipping his handcuffs. “This is your final warning.”
“She doesn't want to see you, Daniel,” Natalie said quietly, leaning in close. “And Hope is sleeping safely in a place you will never find. You spent months treating Claire like an invisible ghost in your house. Now she’s made herself and your daughter completely invisible to you. Enjoy your empty house.”
Natalie backed inside and shut the heavy oak door. The lock clicked with a sound like a gun cocking.
The officers escorted me down the driveway, standing by their cruiser until I got into my car, started the engine, and drove away into the dark.
I drove aimlessly through the rain for two hours, unable to face the dark, echoing tomb that my home had become. I couldn't go to a hotel—Claire had already called the bank and frozen our joint credit cards. When I tried to use my black card at a gas station to buy a bottle of water, it was declined.
She hadn't just taken the furniture; she had completely cut off my financial oxygen supply.
Desperate, I drove to my office building downtown at 2:00 a.m. My private office was the only place left where I thought I still had authority. I took the elevator to the 14th floor, intending to sleep on the sofa in my executive suite and call my lawyer at sunrise.
When the elevator doors opened, the floor lights were on.
Sitting at the main reception desk was Richard Miller, the senior founding partner of my firm—and my mentor for the last eight years. Sitting across from him was a woman in a crisp grey business suit holding a laptop.
Richard didn't look up from his papers as I walked in.
“Daniel,” Richard said, his voice unusually flat. “I was hoping you wouldn't show up until morning.”
“Richard? What are you doing here at two in the morning?” I asked, a fresh knot of panic forming in my throat.
Richard slowly raised his head. His eyes were cold, filled with disappointment and disgust.
“Two hours ago, our compliance department received an anonymous legal filing from a top family law firm,” Richard said, tapping the documents on the desk. “Attached were bank statements showing that over the past year, you submitted over $85,000 in fraudulent business expense reports to cover personal trips, luxury gifts, and apartment rentals for an associate working at our chief competitor.”
My breathing stopped. Samantha.
“Richard, I can explain—”
“You can’t explain corporate fraud, Daniel,” Richard interrupted sharply. “Your wife’s attorneys didn't just sue you for divorce. They served this firm with a subpoena for your financial records to prevent you from hiding assets. You’ve exposed us to a massive ethics investigation.”
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He stood up, sliding a single sheet of paper across the marble desk.
“Effective immediately, you are suspended without pay pending a full forensic audit. Turn over your security badge, your company phone, and clear your desk by 8:00 a.m. tomorrow under security supervision.”
