Chapter 3
I was at the restaurant by 6 AM the next day.
My cheek was still purple, still throbbing.
I’d barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Karen’s smirk.
I saw my husband staring down at his wine glass while she hit me.
I’d tossed all his things out of our apartment at 2 AM, left them in a pile by the dumpster.
Changed the locks.
Texted him once: Don’t ever come here again.
He hadn’t replied.
I sat in my office, the door locked, and pulled up the business bank accounts.
I’d let him handle the books for the last year and a half.
Stupid.
So stupid.
I’d been so busy running the kitchen, training staff, building the business, that I’d trusted him to keep track of the money.
He’d always said it was “too stressful” for me.
Said I should focus on the “fun parts” like cooking and decorating.
I’d believed him.
I opened the first statement.
And my blood ran cold.
Thousands of dollars.
Tens of thousands.
Every month, for eighteen months.
Transfers to a private account I’d never heard of.
Payments for a luxury apartment downtown.
Designer clothes.
Jewelry.
Trips to the beach, to the mountains, to Paris.
All charged to my restaurant’s account.
All while I’d been working 16 hour days, skipping vacations, patching up the old walk-in fridge myself because we “couldn’t afford a repairman.”
All while I’d worn the same three pairs of shoes to work because I thought we were saving for a house.
I scrolled further.
Last month, he’d withdrawn twenty thousand dollars.
Cash.
The day before our anniversary.
I’d bet my left hand it was for a ring.
Not for me.
For her.
I felt sick.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up, my cheek throbbing with every heave.
When I was done, I splashed cold water on my face, stared at my reflection in the mirror.
The purple bruise stood out bright against my pale skin.
My eyes were red, puffy.
But they were dry.
No more tears.
Not for this.
I called Jake.
He was a lawyer.
Good one.
Tough as nails, the kind who didn’t lose.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Lils? You okay?”
“Get down here.
Bring your briefcase.
We have work to do.”
He was there in twenty minutes.
I spread the bank statements out across my desk.
He went through them page by page, his jaw getting tighter and tighter with every turn.
When he was done, he leaned back in his chair, quiet for a long time.
“This is embezzlement, Lila.
Felony.
He’s been stealing from you for a year and a half.
We can bury him.”
I nodded.
I’d already known.
But hearing it out loud, from my brother, made it real.
“Good.
I want every cent back.
I want the apartment he rented for her seized.
I want every necklace, every bracelet, every stupid designer bag he bought her sold to pay me back.
And I want a divorce.
Filed today.”
Jake stood up, squeezed my shoulder.
“Consider it done.
I’ll have the papers served by end of day.
And Lila?”
He looked me dead in the eye.
“We’re not just going to win.
We’re going to make sure he never does this to anyone else ever again.”
We were halfway through going over the divorce filing when the front door of the restaurant burst open.
My mother-in-law.
Marge.
She’d never liked me.
Said I was “too ambitious” for her son.
Said a woman’s place was in the home, not running a business.
She stormed into my office, face purple with rage, before I could even stand up.
“You little bitch!”
She screamed it so loud the walls shook.
“How dare you humiliate my son like that!
Throwing him out of his own restaurant, making a scene in front of all those people!
You’ve ruined his reputation!”
I didn’t flinch.
I just pushed the bank statements across the desk at her.
“Read them.
Every page.
Your son has been stealing from me for eighteen months.
He spent almost two hundred thousand dollars of my money on his mistress.
And last night, he sat there and watched her slap me so hard I still have a bruise.
He didn’t say a word.
He didn’t lift a finger.”
Marge stared at the papers.
Her mouth opened and closed.
She flipped through them, fast, her hands shaking.
When she got to the Paris trip charge, the one he’d told her was a work conference, she went white.
“He… he said that was for the new client account…”
“He lied, Marge.
He lies about everything.
He’s been lying to you, to me, to everyone, for years.”
She dropped the papers on the desk.
For half a second, I thought she might apologize.
I thought she might see what her son really was.
Instead, she lifted her chin.
Cold.
Hard.
Just like him.
“Boys make mistakes.
It’s a wife’s job to forgive them.
If you’d spent more time at home, less time playing restaurant, he never would have had to look elsewhere.
You mark my words, Lila.
If you go through with this divorce, if you try to take my son’s money, you will regret it.
We have friends.
We have connections.
We will ruin you.”
She turned and stormed out, slamming the office door so hard the pictures on the wall shook.
I sat there, quiet, for a long time.
Jake reached across the desk, took my hand.
“Hey.
We knew this would happen.
They’re going to fight dirty.
But we fight dirtier.
Remember?”
I squeezed his hand.
I looked at the bank statements.
At the bruise in the mirror.
At the sign outside my window with my name on it.
I smiled.
Cold.
Sharp.
“Let them fight.
I built this place from nothing.
May you like
I’ve worked too hard, lost too much, to let a coward and his mother and his mistress take it from me.
Bring it on.”
