Chapter 2 - Cutting the Purse Strings
The chaos that followed was a masterpiece of poetic justice. Barbara screamed, cried, and tried to physically block the officers from taking her precious son out the front door. She was threatened with an obstruction charge, which finally forced her to back down, sobbing dramatically onto the rented leather sofa.
While the police loaded my husband and his cousins into the cruisers, a female officer stayed behind while I packed my bags. I changed into dry sweatpants and a thick sweater, finally feeling the warmth return to my body.
As I zipped up my duffel bag and walked back into the main living area, Bradley’s father, Richard, stood up. His face was red with anger. "You are destroying this family, Sarah. Over a joke. How are we supposed to get them out of jail? We don't have bail money on us!"
"That sounds like a problem for your family, Richard," I said, my tone ice-cold. "But since we’re discussing finances, I think there's something you should know."
I pulled out my phone and opened the property management app. I had paid for a four-day weekend at this luxury estate. "Since I am the sole person on the rental agreement, and my credit card is on file for damages, I am officially terminating the reservation. You have exactly one hour to vacate the premises before the local sheriff returns to cite you for trespassing."
Barbara gasped, clutching her chest. "It’s midnight! We drove three hours to get here! Where are we supposed to go?"
"You can sit in your cars. You can find a motel. I don't care," I replied, slipping my phone into my pocket. "And just so we are completely clear, I have just logged into my banking app. I have transferred every cent of my income from our joint accounts into a private account. I’ve frozen the credit cards you all so happily use for your 'family dinners' and 'little emergencies.' The ATM cards will decline. The gravy train has derailed, Barbara."
"You can't do that!" she shrieked, stepping toward me.
The female officer stepped between us, her hand resting casually on her utility belt. "Ma'am, I suggest you start packing your things."
I walked out the front door, got into my Mercedes—which was registered solely in my name—and drove away into the night. I checked into a luxury hotel in the city, ordered a pot of hot chamomile tea, and slept for ten hours straight.
By Monday morning, the fallout was catastrophic. Bradley and his cousins had spent the entire weekend in the county jail because no one in his family had the liquid cash to post their bail. My consulting firm paid me incredibly well, and for years, Bradley had downplayed my career while simultaneously relying entirely on my paycheck to fund his lavish lifestyle and his family’s constant "borrowing."
When Bradley finally used his one phone call, he didn't call me. He called his mother. And because I had canceled the cellular family plan I paid for on Sunday morning, her phone was disconnected.
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I spent Monday morning in the sleek, glass-walled office of the most aggressive, high-profile divorce attorney in the city. I laid out the financial records, the police report, and a copy of the video that Tyler had so stupidly recorded.
My attorney, a sharp woman named Elena, looked at the footage and smiled a predatory smile. "Sarah, not only are we going to get you a restraining order by noon, but we are going to leave him with absolutely nothing. He dug his own grave. We're just going to push the dirt in."
