Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 18

Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 18: Rats in the Ruins

“Punch it in,” I told the security guard

“Paladin-November-Eight-Zero,” he muttered, punching the letters and numbers into the rusted keypad.

The metal roll-up door rattled upward, spitting flakes of orange rust onto the concrete floor. The smell of stale dirt and trapped air rushed out to greet us.

“Clear the room,” I ordered.

Two men in dark suits stepped into the windowless unit. Flashlights swept across the cramped space, cutting through the thick dust swirling in the air.

“It’s safe, Ms. Miller,” the taller guard called out. “But there’s no safe. No lockboxes. No files.”

I walked inside. The beam of my phone flashlight illuminated a single cardboard box sitting in the center of the floor. Leaning against it were three large canvases wrapped in brown paper.

“Tear the paper,” I told him.

The guard ripped the covering away.

I stared at the object revealed beneath. It wasn’t a financial ledger. It wasn’t a list of offshore accounts or hidden properties.

It was a watercolor painting of a bluebird. I had painted it when I was twenty years old, sitting on the balcony of my first apartment

“Open the box,” I demanded, my voice hardening.

He pulled the cardboard flaps back.

I reached inside and pulled out a black VHS tape. A white label bore a handwritten title in Julian’s neat script: *Our Vows *

A sharp, barking laugh tore from my throat. It bounced off the corrugated aluminum walls, loud and jarring.

The guard jumped, his hand dropping instinctively toward his belt.

“Ma’am?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“He didn’t hide money,” I said, staring at the plastic rectangle in my palm. “He hid a ghost ”

Julian thought this would break me. He actually believed I would stand in this filthy locker, hold my youthful art, and weep for the man

he used to be. He thought a reminder of our wedding day would make me call the judge and beg for mercy

The sheer arrogance turned my stomach. Disgust coated the back of my throat like a sickness.

“Leave us,” I told the guards. “Wait outside by the cars.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go.”

They stepped back out into the corridor, their shadows stretching long against the pavement

I turned the tape over in my hands. The plastic felt greasy He wanted to manipulate me one last time. He wanted to be the tragic hero of his own ruined lite, preserving our “love” in a rented locker while he destroyed our actual reality

Footsteps slapped frantically against the pavement outside

“Get out of my way!” a shrill voice shrieked.

Someone shoved violently past the guards.

Chloe stumbled into the unit.

She looked nothing like the polished, arrogant mistress who had smirked at me in the courthouse just days ago. Her blonde hair stuck to her forehead in matted, sweaty clumps. Her silk blouse was torn at the shoulder, and her designer purse was scuffed and missing a

strap.

“Where is it?” Chloe demanded. Her chest heaved rapidly as her wild eyes darted around the room.

“Where is what, Chloe?” I asked.

She lunged toward the cardboard box. “The money! He told me he had a stash! He promised me a safety net!”

She grabbed my old paintings and hurled them onto the dirty floor. The canvas tore against a loose nail protruding from the concrete

“Stop,” I commanded.

“You took everything!” she screamed, digging frantically through the cardboard. “You froze my accounts! The hospital is calling me about the baby’s bills! Where are the bearer bonds?”

“There are no bonds.”

“You’re lying!”

She dropped to her knees, clawing at the empty bottom of the box. Her perfectly manicured nails chipped against the cardboard She found a dried-up wedding corsage and crushed it in her fist, crying out in pure frustration.

“You found it first!” Chloe accused, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You took the cash and hid it!”

“Look around, Chloe,” I said, gesturing to the bare metal walls. “Do you see a vault? Do you see a briefcase?”

“He said Paladin-November-Eight-Zero was our salvation!” she sobbed, rocking back on her heels. “He said it would save us!”

I laughed again, the sound devoid of any humor. “Paladin was his childhood dog. November was the month we met Eight-Zero was the year I was born. Your salvation is made entirely of my history.”

Chloe froze. She stared up at me, dirt smearing her tear-streaked cheeks.

“He didn’t leave you a fortune,” I explained, holding up the VHS tape. “He left a monument to his own ego. He wanted me to find this and forgive him.”

“No,” Chloe whimpered, shaking her head violently. “He wouldn’t do that. He loved me. He promised we were starting a new family”

“He loves the mirror. We were just reflections.”

I watched her roll in the dirt, sobbing over dead flowers and useless memories. This was the woman Julian destroyed his family for

This fetal, desperate creature digging through trash in a storage facility

The pathetic display killed any lingering anger I had left for her She wasn’t a rival. She was just another victim of his narcissism, entirely too stupid to realize she had been played

I reached into my blazer pocket and pulled out a silver Zippo. I had bought it from a gas station on the drive over, fully expecting to burn financial ledgers

I flipped the lid open. The sharp metallic sound made Chloe flinch.

“What are you doing?” she asked, scooting backward on the concrete.

“Cleaning up.

I flicked the wheel. A bright orange flame sprang to life, casting dancing shadows across the unit.

I held the tape by the edge and brought the fire to the plastic casing. It melted instantly. A foul, black smoke curled into the air, stinging my eyes.

“Stop!” Chloe shrieked, scrambling to her feet. “There might be something inside it! A key! A map!”

“It’s just a lie,” I said.

The fire licked my fingers, but I didn’t drop the tape. I wanted to watch his promises turn to ash. The magnetic ribbon caught, curling and spitting tiny orange sparks onto the floor.

The heat felt wonderful. It burned away the last fifteen years of my life. It incinerated the vows he had broken a thousand times over

“You’re insane!” Chloe cried out, coughing as the thick smoke filled the small room. She curled into a ball against the aluminum wall, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Footsteps approached from the corridor. Calm, even strides that cut through the chaos of Chloe’s sobbing.

“You’re going to burn your hand.”

Sebastian’s voice sliced through the smoke.

He stepped into the unit, completely ignoring the weeping woman on the floor. He wore a long black wool trench coat against the evening chill, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

He reached out and snatched the burning tape from my grip. He tossed it onto the concrete and stomped it out with the toe of his oxford shoe. The plastic cracked under his weight.

“You shouldn’t play with fire alone,” he murmured.

He unbuttoned his coat and stepped close. He pulled me against his chest, wrapping the heavy wool around my shoulders. He shielded me from the cold and the stench of melting plastic, his body a solid wall of heat against my back

“The police are pulling up to the front gate,” Sebastian said, his chin resting against the top of my head. “They have a warrant for her arrest.”

Chloe’s head snapped up. “Arrest? For what?”

“Extortion,” Sebastian answered, his tone flat. “And filing a false police report regarding the hitman allegations”