Chapter 4

Mark texted back within seconds with a phone number.

Evelyn, what happened?

Family issue. I need some evidence gathered.

I didn't elaborate, and being an experienced reporter, he didn't pry. He simply replied with three words:

Stay strong. Call.

Looking at that short message, a brief warmth touched my chest.

At least there were still decent people in this world.

I called the private investigator immediately. My demands were simple and direct:

I wanted undeniable proof of Liam’s infidelity, documentation of his cohabitation with Tiffany, and a DNA paternity test for that newborn boy.

Money was not an issue.

The investigator was a seasoned professional. He estimated it would take roughly a week.

During that week of waiting, I acted as if nothing had ever happened.

I stopped arguing with Liam and Brenda. In fact, I softened my attitude, cooked dinner, and spoke in gentle tones.

Liam assumed I had caved under the pressure and became sickeningly attentive, showering me with hollow compliments.

Brenda believed she had successfully tamed me, frequently dropping passive-aggressive comments about the glory of having a grandson.

"You see, Evelyn, a smart woman knows how to secure her place. Look at Tiffany—delivered a boy on the first try."

"Our family legacy is safe now."

She watched my reaction closely as she spoke.

I merely kept peeling an apple for Maya, answering mildly, "Is that so? Good for her."

My apparent submission made them completely drop their guard.

Liam started coming home later and later, smelling faintly of floral perfume.

Brenda practically lived at Tiffany’s apartment, returning home every evening with a triumphant grin.

"That boy grows so fast! He has Liam’s exact nose and eyes. A true Miller through and through!"

I kept a digital voice recorder running in my apron pocket, capturing every single word of her boasting.

Aside from recordings, I was hunting for something else.

Property deeds.

Liam had recently mentioned selling an upscale pre-marital studio apartment he owned to "upgrade" to a larger property.

I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now I knew better. It wasn't an upgrade. It was a transfer.

One afternoon while they were out, I picked the lock on his home office desk and found a sealed manila envelope.

Inside was a brand-new deed.

The address: the luxury gated community where Tiffany lived.

A penthouse suite, over two thousand square feet.

And the sole name on the deed was Tiffany Vance.

A deed of gift.

He had transferred an asset worth over a million dollars directly to his mistress.

I photographed every single page, every signature, and placed the envelope back exactly as I had found it.

My chest felt hollow, but my head was clear.

A pre-marital asset gifted to a third party was notoriously difficult to claw back under state law.

I needed heavier artillery. Something that would obliterate them completely.

On the fifth day, the investigator called. Everything was ready.

We met at a quiet, discreet tea house.

He handed me a thick manila folder filled with glossy photographs and official documents.

The photos showed Liam and Tiffany being intimate in public parks, entering private suites, and shopping for luxury nursery furniture together.

And inside was the DNA report.

The conclusion at the bottom was unambiguous: Probability of paternity between Liam Miller and the male infant: 99.99%.

Ironclad.

I paid the remaining balance. The investigator hesitated for a moment before leaning across the table.

"Mrs. Miller, there's one more thing."

"We audited Liam’s boutique logistics firm. A massive sum of money moved out of the corporate account recently, straight into Tiffany Vance’s personal account."

My ears pricked up. "How much?"

"Liam is the majority owner, but last month he transferred a large chunk of his corporate shares to his mother, Brenda. Then, under the guise of an 'angel investment,' the company wired seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars directly to Tiffany."

Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

I clutched the folder tightly.

Liam’s logistics company was founded after our marriage. It was community property.

He was colluding with his mother to drain corporate assets right before our divorce—and funneling them straight to his mistress.

"Can you pull the transaction paper trail?"

"Yes, but it'll take forty-eight hours and an expedited fee."

"Get it done. I'll pay whatever it takes."

I looked out the window as dusk settled over the city.

The trap was closing. And I was the one pulling the strings.

When I got home, neither Liam nor Brenda was there. A scribbled note on the counter said they had taken "the little prince" for his pediatric shots.

Seeing those words made my blood run cold with disgust.

I picked up my phone and called a close contact at our commercial bank.

"I need you to trace a specific wire. Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars from Liam’s corporate account to Tiffany Vance."

"I need to know where that capital is sitting right now."

My contact was fast. Thirty minutes later, she called back.

"The funds haven't been spent, Evelyn. It's still in Tiffany's name."

"However, just this afternoon, she locked the entire sum into a three-year structured, closed-end annuity fund. It cannot be liquidated early without severe penalties."

A three-year lockup.

Tiffany was clever. She knew the money was legally dirty, so she locked it up tight to keep me from seizing it in a quick settlement.

I hung up, a cold smirk touching my lips.

I had every single piece of evidence I needed.

I opened my phone and dialed the number of the top divorce litigator in the state—Attorney Vance, whom I had consulted days prior.

I encrypted the files and sent them straight to his secure portal.

Then, I sent him a text:

Attorney Vance. File the petition. It’s time.

It was time to take my legal team and introduce myself properly to my cheating husband and his prized, hidden little bastard.