He Wanted a Fake Divorce for the Payout, I Gave Him a Real One for the Payback Chapter 01

He Wanted a Fake Divorce for the Payout, I Gave Him a Real One for the Payback Chapter 01

“Sign it. For the redevelopment payout, we’ll get a sham divorce.”

My husband slapped the divorce papers onto the table and told me to walk away with nothing.

His reason?

His widowed sister-in-law was pregnant, and they wanted the baby to qualify for an extra apartment in the relocation deal.

I glanced at Lorna’s four-month baby bump and sneered inwardly.

My brother had been dead and buried for six months. So whose baby was that?

I picked up the pen and signed without hesitation. “Fine. I’ll leave with nothing.”

Since they wanted to put on a show, I was more than happy to play my part until the curtain fell.

But that apartment was still a Whitaker property. If they thought they could swallow it whole, they were dead wrong.

*******

Darren Whitaker slammed the divorce settlement agreement onto the table with a heavy bang, hard enough to make the water in the chipped coffee mug tremble.

“Sign it.”

He had a cigarette hanging from his mouth, blowing smoke toward the ceiling, his whole face a mask of irritation, as if I were the one who owed him eight million dollars.

I picked up the papers and skimmed them. Under “division of assets,” the apartment went to him. The car went to him. The savings went to him.

And I, Clara Whitaker, got nothing.

“What’s the reason?” I asked.

“The government buyout, obviously.”

Darren flicked the cigarette butt onto the floor and ground it under his shoe.

“You know Lorna’s pregnant. If this gets out, we won’t see a dime from the redevelopment deal on those two apartments. The only way this works is if we divorce, and she qualifies as a single, low-income widow with no property. Then she can get an extra housing unit.”

His eyes were bulging, the whites streaked red.

“Besides, it’s a sham divorce. Once the money comes through, we’ll get remarried. I’m not some heartless scoundrel who’d just cast you aside.”

I looked at him. This man had been married to me for five years.

He had gotten a little thinner, but somehow his gut had ballooned.

Those narrow, shifty triangular eyes darted back and forth.

Lorna Whitaker was my late brother Nathan’s widow.

Nathan had died suddenly in a car accident last year, without leaving behind a child.

Lorna had always been a mute mouse, you couldn’t squeeze a word out of her with a wrench but somehow, recently, her stomach had started to swell.

“Darren, don’t talk so big.”

I flipped the agreement over and twirled the pen between my fingers.

“A sham divorce? Then why does the apartment, the car, and every dollar in the account go to you? What exactly do I get?”

“Come on, Clara. Are you seriously keeping score with me?”

Darren panicked and reached for my hand. His palm was sweaty and greasy.

“You’re my wife. What’s mine is yours. This is just to fly under the radar, understand? To fly under the radar! If they find out we’re still married, and Lorna is a remarried widow with a kid on the way, the compensation gets cut in half.”

The doorway screen rustled, and Lorna walked in.

She was wearing a loose floral house dress, her belly already showing under the fabric like a small bowl had been strapped beneath it.

Her face was sallow, her eyelids drooped, and she shuffled along, her heels scraping the floor.

“Clara,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Just listen to Darren. It’s for the family.”

She braced one hand against her lower back, the way women did when they were far along.

But she was only a little over four months pregnant.

I stared at her belly and wondered what was inside it.

Darren’s baby?

Or my dead brother’s?

Darren immediately stood and went to help her, groveling with attentiveness.

His hand landed straight on her waist. Lorna flinched , but ultimately stayed put.

“See? Even Lorna agrees.”

Darren looked at me, a smug curl tugging at his mouth. “Hurry up and sign. The bureaucrats are about to clock out.”

I set the pen down, lifted the chipped mug, and took a sip.

The coffee had gone cold, bitter enough to numb the back of my tongue.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll sign.”

Darren froze for a second, probably because he hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. His eyes darted around before a grin broke out.

“That’s more like it. I knew you were reasonable.”

I picked up the pen and signed my name across the page.

Clara Whitaker.

Darren snatched the papers away as if he were afraid I would change my mind, then stuffed them into his pocket.

“Let’s go. Right now.”

Outside, the sun was brutal, scorching hot enough to make your scalp prickle.

Darren drove. Lorna sat in the passenger seat.

I sat in the back.

In the rearview mirror, Darren and Lorna exchanged a glance.

The corner of Lorna’s mouth lifted slightly, a chilling smirk that didn’t reach her eyes.

I smiled too.

A sham divorce? They wanted to kick me out, take the family property, and raise that pregnant widow ’s bastard?

Darren, Darren.

You really had no idea who you were playing with.