Chapter 8 - The Desperate Call and Cold Retaliation
By Wednesday morning, the tropical humidity in Key West had become unbearable. Inside Room 14 of the budget motel, the air conditioner had finally given out, sputtering warm, musty air into the cramped room.
Eric sat on the edge of the mattress, his head in his hands. The room smelled of instant noodles and desperation. Patricia lay on the other bed with a damp washcloth over her eyes, moaning about her migraine, while Megan sat in the corner, furiously scrolling through social media on a phone with twenty percent battery remaining.
“Eric,” Patricia groaned. “My blood pressure medication is running out. I need you to go to the pharmacy and buy my refill.”
“With what, Mom?!” Eric snapped, his voice hoarse and raw. “I have fourteen dollars in cash left! Fourteen dollars! That won't even buy a sandwich, let alone your prescription!”
“Then call your wife!” Megan screamed. “Call her and beg! I don't care if you have to get on your knees and cry! Get us out of here, Eric! Look at my skin! I’m breaking out! I haven't had a proper meal in three days!”
Eric stared at his phone. His pride was completely pulverized. He had no other options left on earth. With trembling fingers, he dialed my number once again.
This time, I answered on the first ring.
“Laura...” Eric whispered, his voice cracking with utter defeat. “Laura, please. Don't hang up. Please.”
“I’m listening, Eric.”
“Laura, we’re starving,” he choked out, hot tears spilling down his hollow cheeks. “The air conditioner is broken. Mom is sick. Megan is having panic attacks. We have fourteen dollars left. I swear to God, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry for taking the card. I will sign whatever papers you want. I will move out. Just please... book us three economy one-way tickets home and send two hundred dollars for food. Please, Laura. For the sake of our fourteen years together.”
I listened to his pathetic sniffling, feeling entirely detached. I remembered the countless times I had begged him to prioritize our children, the times I had sat at the kitchen table crying over bills while he bought thousand-dollar custom suits, the smirks Patricia and Megan had given me over dinner while boasting about vacations I was excluded from.
“Eric,” I said calmly, “do you remember what you told me last Thursday night in our kitchen?”
Eric hesitated. “Laura... please...”
“You looked me in the eye and told me to haul firewood in a freezing cabin while you took the 'queens of your life' to paradise. You told me not to turn fairness into an argument. You told me that some people deserve luxury, and some people are made for practical labor.”
“I was wrong! I was an idiot! I was just trying to make Mom happy!”
“You weren't an idiot, Eric. You were a thief,” I said coldly. “You forged my signature on a sixty-thousand-dollar lien. You set up a fraudulent shell company in your sister's name to steal kickbacks from your employer. You embezzled from your dealership, and you stole my corporate instrument.”
Eric’s breath stopped entirely. “How... how do you know about the LLC?”
“The Hennepin County Sheriff’s Department and the dealership’s legal team know about it too,” I replied. “Rebecca Sloan handed the complete forensic audit to the county prosecutor two hours ago. There is an active arrest warrant waiting for you the moment your feet touch Minnesota soil.”
Eric let out a strangled, animalistic gasp. “Laura, no! You can't do this! They’ll put me in prison!”
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“You put yourself in prison the day you decided my children and I were nothing more than resources to exploit,” I said. “You wanted an oceanfront vacation, Eric. Enjoy the rest of your week in Key West.”
I ended the call.
