Chapter 5 - THE AUDIT OF THREE YEARS
Arthur took a desperate step toward me, his hands shaking as he held the legal packet. "Ellie, please! I know I made a mistake last night! I should have defended you! I should have told Mom to stop! I was just... I was caught in the middle!"
"You weren't in the middle, Arthur," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "You were standing right behind your mother, using me as a shield so you didn't have to grow up."
I turned to the two movers standing by the doorway. "Gentlemen, please begin packing everything in the master bedroom, the kitchen cookware, the art prints, and the electronics. Everything in those rooms was purchased exclusively by me."
"Wait!" Chloe screamed, jumping out of her chair. "You can't take the TV! That's the living room TV! We're watching the Rose Bowl!"
"I bought that 65-inch OLED TV with my annual performance bonus two years ago, Chloe," I said smoothly. "Just like I bought the Dyson vacuum you've never used, the Nespresso machine you use three times a day without ever buying pods, and the Italian leather sofa your mother is sitting on."
Deborah stood up, her face twisted in a ugly snarl of rage. "You arrogant, vindictive little viper! We gave you a family! Arthur gave you his name! You would be nothing without this family!"
My father let out a loud, booming laugh that made Deborah flinch. "His name? My daughter is a senior director at a global investment firm, Deborah. Your son works as a mid-level sales coordinator making sixty thousand dollars a year while my daughter has been paying his six-figure lifestyle bills for thirty-six months!"
Deborah’s jaw dropped. She spun around to look at Arthur. "What?! Arthur, you told me you were making senior partner salary! You told me you paid half the expenses here!"
Arthur looked down at the floor, his face burning with a deep, pathetic crimson. He hadn't just lied to me—he had lied to his own mother and sister for three years, pretending he was the big-shot wealthy executive funding our luxurious high-rise lifestyle, when in reality he was spending his entire paycheck on his own clothes, golf outings, and sports tickets while I quietly bankrolled his entire family.
"He didn't pay half, Deborah," I revealed coldly. "He didn't even pay ten percent. For thirty-six months, Arthur contributed eight hundred dollars a month toward 'joint expenses.' Do you know what eight hundred dollars covers in a luxury downtown Chicago condo?"
Deborah stayed silent, her eyes wide with shock.
"It barely covers the monthly garage parking fee for his car," I said. "I paid the remaining four thousand dollars a month in housing overhead. I paid for the groceries you ate. I paid for the wine Chloe drank. I paid for the dry cleaning for your coats. You have been living off my inheritance and my salary while treating me like an intruder in my own living room."
I reached into my handbag, pulled out a thick printed financial binder, and tossed it onto the kitchen island.
"That is a complete itemized forensic ledger prepared by my accountant this morning," I continued. "It details every single dollar spent on this household over the last three years. And attached to the back is a draft of our divorce petition."
Arthur’s eyes went wide with pure terror. "Divorce...? Ellie, no... please, don't file for divorce!"
"The petition includes a formal claim for dissipation of marital assets," Mr. Callahan added smoothly. "Since Arthur used joint marital funds—funds provided almost exclusively by Eleanor's salary—to pay off your personal credit debts, Deborah, and to fund Chloe's personal expenses without spousal consent, we are seeking full financial reimbursement from Arthur's remaining retirement accounts."
Chloe began to cry, realizing that her free, rent-free lifestyle in a luxury high-rise was officially over. "Where am I supposed to go?! I don't have enough money for a security deposit on an apartment!"
"I suggest you look for a roommate, Chloe," I said flatly. "Or ask your mother to help you, since she's so fond of giving advice on how to build a home."
I turned to Mr. Callahan. "Have the emergency utility restoration crew arrived downstairs?"
"Yes, Eleanor," Callahan nodded. "The gas technician is in the basement right now. The heat will be restored in ten minutes—under your name, locked behind a private access PIN that only you control."
"Excellent," I said. I turned to Arthur, Deborah, and Chloe one last time.
May you like
"You have forty-eight hours to pack your clothes and leave," I said, my voice echoing clearly through the cold room. "If there is any damage to this property when I return on January 3rd, I will press formal criminal charges for vandalism. Happy New Year."
I turned on my heel and walked out of the condo, flanked by my father and Mr. Callahan, as the sound of Deborah’s hysterical screaming echoed down the hallway behind us.
