Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 21

Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 21: The Last Visit

The metal chair scraped against the linoleum floor as I sat down.

I stared through the thick pane of reinforced glass. The visitation booth smelled of industrial bleach and stale sweat. I crossed my legs, resting my leather handbag on my lap.

A heavy steel door unlatched on the opposite side of the room.

Julian shuffled into the booth.

He wore a bright orange jumpsuit that hung loosely on his emaciated frame. His cheekbones juttled out sharply beneath his pale, sunken skin. A massive purple bruise covered the left side of his jaw, trailing down into his collar. He looked entirely broken.

He dropped heavily into the chair facing mine. His trembling fingers reached for the black plastic receiver on the wall.

I picked up my phone.

“Clara,” he rasped. His voice sounded like grinding sandpaper.

“You look terrible, Julian. Prison food doesn’t agree with you?”

“The guards leave the lights on all night,” he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the metal counter. “The other inmates know I used to be a CEO. They think I have money stashed away. They corner me in the showers.”

“You should have hidden your assets better.”

He snapped his head up. “I didn’t call you here to gloat. I need to know about the kids.”

“Why?” I asked lightly.

“Because Chloe isn’t answering my calls! Her lawyer sent me a letter saying she cut off all contact.” Julian leaned closer to the glass. “Where are Liam and Mia? Are they safe? Did you take them home?”

“Chloe is busy fighting her own extortion charges,” I reminded him. “She locked your children out of the apartment the moment your accounts froze. She didn’t even let them pack a bag.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, she wouldn’t do that.”

“She did.”

“Then where are they?” Julian demanded, his voice rising in panic. “Clara, please! Tell me they are sleeping in their own beds!”

I unclasped my handbag. I pulled out the yellow carbon-copy sheets the police officer had handed me two days ago. I unfolded them and pressed the papers flat against the glass barrier.

“Read it,” I instructed.

Julian squinted at the documents. His lips moved silently, tracing the printed words. The remaining color drained from his bruised face, leaving him a sickly gray.

“Juvenile detention?” he choked out. He pressed his palm against the glass, trying to touch the papers. “Theft? Criminal trespassing? What is this?”

“They stole a loaf of bread from a corner bodega,” I stated. “Then they tried to force their way into my office building. They caused quite a scene in the lobby.”

“You let the police process them?!” he shrieked.

“I ordered the police to take them. I pressed the maximum charges.”

Julian slammed his fist against the barrier. The thick plexiglass barely vibrated.

“You monster!” he roared. “They are your flesh and blood! They are just kids!”

“They are your accomplices,” I corrected, folding the papers and slipping them back into my bag. “They made their choice the day they laughed at me from the passenger seat of your Porsche. They chose the winner. Now they get to live with the loser’s consequences.”

“They were confused! I manipulated them!” Julian sobbed. A wet, pathetic sound echoed through the earpiece. “Don’t punish them for my sins, Clara. Get them out of that place.”

“I surrendered my parental rights. They belong to the state now.”

He stared at me, his eyes wide with absolute horror. “You abandoned them.”

“I excised a tumor.”

Julian paced in his small enclosure. He dragged his hand through his thinning hair, pulling at the roots. He spun back toward me, pointing an accusing finger at the window. “You destroyed everything,” he cried. “You stole my company. You drained my accounts. And now you threw my kids in a cage! You are a vicious, cold-blooded bitch!”

I smiled.

The expression formed easily on my face. A genuine, relaxed curve of my lips. Watching his soul fracture into a million tiny pieces brought me a profound sense of peace. The psychological dominance felt like a heavy, warm blanket wrapping around my shoulders. He possessed zero power over me. Absolute security lived in this exact moment.

“I learned from the best,” I told him.

“I hope you rot,” he spat, his chest heaving rapidly. “I hope you die alone in that empty penthouse. I hope every dollar you stole from me turns to ash.”

“I won’t be alone, Julian.”

He stopped pacing. His bloodshot eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

I adjusted my posture, smoothing the lapel of my crimson blazer. “Sebastian proposed. We are getting engaged next month.”

Julian froze. His jaw slacked. The furious energy vanished from his body, replaced by a hollow, gaping void.

“Sebastian?” he whispered. “My lawyer?”

“My partner,” I replied.

“The man who put me in here…” Julian swayed on his feet. He gripped the metal counter to keep himself upright. “You planned this. You slept with him while we were married. You plotted this whole thing together!”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You ruined your own life entirely on your own. We just swept up the garbage.”

“He brainwashed you!” Julian yelled, banging his head against the glass. “He used my money to buy your loyalty! He stole my life!”

“He handed me the knife,” I said softly. “I chose exactly where to stick it.”

“Clara, please,” he begged. His voice cracked, shifting into a high, desperate pitch. “Don’t do this. Don’t let him take my place. I’m your husband. I’m the father of your children.”

“You are a prisoner with seven years on your sentence. Sebastian isn’t taking your place. He is erasing it.”

I pulled the receiver away from my ear.

“Wait! Clara! Don’t hang up!” he screamed.

Even without the phone, I could hear his muffled voice frantic through the thick barrier. He slammed both hands against the window, smearing sweat and grease onto the clear surface.

I placed the plastic handset onto the metal cradle.

A sharp snap echoed in my booth.

The final thread severed. I felt incredibly light. The ghost of our fifteen-year marriage vanished completely, leaving nothing behind but cold, hard reality.

Julian pounded his fists against the glass again. He opened his mouth to shout, but his expression suddenly contorted.

His eyes bulged.

He dropped the phone. It dangled by its metal cord, swinging violently against the wall. His hands flew to his chest, his fingers digging into the cheap orange fabric of his uniform.

His mouth opened in a silent scream of agony.

He stumbled backward, losing his grip on the counter. His knees buckled. He collapsed onto the concrete floor, curling into a tight ball as his body convulsed.

A loud siren pierced the air. Red strobe lights flashed above his booth, bathing the room in a bloody glow.

The heavy steel door swung open. Two guards rushed inside, sounding the medical alarm.