I laid a folder on the table. Inside weren’t the sale papers, but a Petition for Divorce and a copy of the audit Sarah’s investigator had performed on their “investment” firm.
The color drained from Jake’s face. Mark began to sweat, and Evelyn’s smirk vanished.
“The condo isn’t being sold,” I said, my voice steady. “In fact, I’ve already changed the locks on our marital home—the one I pay the majority of the mortgage on. Since you’re so fond of ‘renting,’ I suggest you find a place together. Perhaps a three-bedroom? It’ll be cheaper.”
“You can’t do this!” Evelyn shrieked. “We are your family!”
“No,” I said, standing up and heading toward the door where my brother was waiting to escort them out. “You are a liability. And I’m liquidating my interest in you.”
The fallout was messy, but predictable. Without my condo money to plug the holes, Jake and Mark’s firm collapsed. They didn’t go to prison, but they were barred from the financial industry for life. Jake ended up living in his mother’s spare room—a poetic justice he hadn’t anticipated.
I stayed in my condo for a while, watching the sunset over the city, feeling the weight of five years finally lift off my shoulders. Leo and I were safe.
I learned a valuable lesson: When someone tells you that you don’t have a choice, it’s usually because they are terrified of the choice you’re about to make.