The Divorce Revenge Scheme

Three days after I got the divorce papers, my exhusband showed up at my door with the police and said I had embezzled eight million from his company during our marriage. “Babe, just take the blame for now.

I promise I’ll get you out within three months.” When he said that, his voice was gentle, just as sincere as when he proposed. But I was no longer his wife.

And I was definitely not that fool who would take the fall for him. Right in front of the police, I opened the recording app on my phone. “First, we’re already divorced.

Second, your company’s financial seal is in your safe, and I never touched it. Third—” I looked at the woman standing behind him.

She was six months pregnant, and her face had gone paperwhite. “Is this your new girl?

Wouldn’t it make more sense for her to go to prison for you?” The air in the living room felt completely drained.

Two officers were standing by the entryway, and the older one had already started writing in his incident report.

My exhusband, Dylan Reed, froze for a fraction of a second, then put on that usual helpless smile. “Officers, you saw it.

This is just how she is,” he said with a sigh. “There was an eightmillion gap in my company’s accounts. The finance department found that she handled the transfers.

I wanted to settle this privately, since we were married once—” “Exhusband and exwife.” I cut him off.

Dylan paused, and his eyes darkened. “Right, exhusband and exwife.” He ground out the words like they hurt. “But the transfers happened while we were still married.” The officer looked at me. “Lily Reed, right?

Dylan Reed reported that while you were working at his company, you transferred eight million in company funds in three separate transactions.

What do you have to say about that?” I didn’t answer right away.

First I saved the recording on my phone, then I took a folder out of the coffee table drawer. “Officer, can I sit down to talk? My foot still hasn’t healed.” That was the truth.

Three days ago, the day I went to get the divorce papers, I fell down the steps outside the civil affairs office, and my right ankle swelled up like a steamed bun.

Dylan had been standing right beside me back then, watching me fall, and he didn’t help.

Because he was in a hurry to pick up that woman. “Go ahead and sit.” The older officer nodded.

I sat on the couch and placed the folder on my lap. “The three transfers Dylan mentioned were real.

I did process them.” Dylan’s eyes lit up. “But—” I looked at him and said slowly, “He was the one who told me to do it.” The light in his face died before it could even fully bloom. “Lily, you—” “Who to send it to, how much to send, and when to send it were all his instructions.” I went on. “The financial seal was with him, and so was the banking token.

I was just the one doing the work.” “Do you have proof?” the younger officer asked.

I pulled three photocopies of the transfer slips out of the folder. “Every time I made a transfer, he signed the approval form.

His signature and the company seal are on it.” Dylan’s expression changed.

He wanted to step forward, but the younger officer raised a hand to stop him. “Where did you get these?” Dylan asked in a low voice. “I handled the transfers.

Of course I kept copies. What’s the problem?” “You—” “Mr.

Reed, please don’t talk yet.” The older officer took the slips, glanced at them, then looked up at Dylan. “Are these three signatures yours?” Dylan stared at the paper, his throat bobbing. “Yes... but when I signed, the amount field was blank.” “So the signature is yours?” “Yes, but—” “Then did you know that, as the company’s legal representative, signing a blank approval form is already a management failure?” Dylan was speechless.

He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went white. I looked at him and felt nothing.

A year ago, when he first asked me to help him “bridge” company funds, he had made the same face. Back then he said, “Babe, just move three million. I’ll pay it back next week.

If you won’t help me, who will?” I helped him. Three million, repaid. Then five million, also repaid.

Every time it was “next week,” “next month,” “by the end of the year.” Until three months ago, when he asked me to move eight million and said this would be the last time.

I said the company didn’t have that much liquid cash. He said it was fine, to move it from the reserve fund. I said the reserve fund was for emergencies.

He said this was the emergency. Then he disappeared for three days, not answering calls and not replying on SnapChat.

I went to his company and found that his office had a new assistant. She was twentythree, her last name was Walker, and she was already four months pregnant.

That was when I finally understood that all those “I’ll pay it back next week” promises had never gone into the company’s projects. Where had they gone? To support another family.

The officers collected the three transfer slips into an evidence bag. “We’ll verify these,” the older officer said, looking at me. “Lily, you say these transfers were at Dylan Reed’s instruction.

Besides the approval forms, do you have any other evidence?” “Yes.” I took out my phone and opened a recording. “On March 10 this year, when he asked me to transfer the first three million, I recorded it.” Dylan’s expression changed.

He took a step forward, but the younger officer blocked him again. “Lily, when did you record that?” “The day you told me to move the money.” “You—” “Want me to play it for the officers?” I didn’t wait for his answer and hit play.

Dylan’s voice came through the phone, carrying that gentle tone I knew too well. “Babe, the company’s cash flow is tight this month.

Help me move the three million from the reserve fund into this account.

Once the project payment comes in next week, I’ll put it back.” “Which account?” That was my voice. “I’ll send it to you on SnapChat.” “Whose account is this?” “The partner’s.

Don’t worry, I checked it.” I paused the recording there. “There’s more,” I said.

Dylan’s face had already gone from white to gray. “Lily, you actually—” “I actually kept evidence?” I looked at him. “Dylan, you had me moving money for you more than ten times in three years of marriage, and every time it was ‘paid back next week.’ Was it too much for me to keep a record?” He went silent.

The officers exchanged a look. The older one asked, “Are you planning to submit these recordings as evidence?” “Yes.” “Alright.

We’ll send them for technical verification.” Dylan suddenly laughed, and the sound sent a chill down my spine. “Lily, you think that’s all?” He looked at me. “You think I came here today to negotiate with you?” He pulled a few sheets of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. “While you were working at my company, you used your position to transfer eight million in three separate payments.

I’ve already hired a lawyer and filed for embezzlement.” He slammed the papers onto the coffee table. “These are the copies of the lawsuit.

It’s officially served today.” I didn’t look at the papers.

I looked at him. “You’re suing me for embezzlement?” “Yes.” “You knew damn well the transfers were something you told me to do.” “Do you have proof?” He threw my words back at me. “Recordings can be edited.

Approval forms can be forged. What makes you think you can prove I ordered it?” The living room went quiet for a few seconds. Then I suddenly understood something.

He wasn’t here to solve a problem. He was here to destroy me.

Memories flooded back, like ice water dumped over my head. A year ago, the first time I helped him move money, he said it was just for three days.

Three days later, the money still hadn’t come back, and he said the other side was dragging its feet. A week later, he said to wait a little longer.

A month later, he said that transaction had gone wrong and asked me to help him move another batch of money to plug the hole.

I asked him how big the hole was, and he said five million. I asked who the five million was going to, and he said it was for a new project.

I asked what the new project was, and he stammered that it was still being discussed. I should have been suspicious then. But I wasn’t. Because I trusted him.

For three years of marriage, I quit my job and worked fulltime helping him manage the company accounts.

He said a couple running a business together needed trust, so I changed the password for the bank token to his birthday.

He said it was safer to keep the financial seal in his safe, so I gave it to him. He said the outside books needed to look better and asked me to make some “adjustments,” so I did.

I did that for three years. In those three years, the company’s annual revenue grew from five million to twenty million.

In those three years, the total amount of transfers I handled exceeded thirty million.

In those three years, I never took a single paycheck, because he said, “Aren’t all the money at home yours anyway?” Until three months ago, when I found out there wasn’t even ten thousand left in my own account.

All the money was in the company accounts. All the money was in his hands. And the woman outside had been living in a villa, driving a BMW, using money I had helped him earn.

I went to confront him, and he said, “Lily, stop making a scene. She’s pregnant. I have to take responsibility.” I asked him if he took responsibility when I was pregnant too.

He froze and said, “When were you pregnant?” I said two years ago, then I lost it, because I had been working nonstop on that threemillion transfer you made me handle, and I ended up in the hospital from exhaustion, and the baby was gone.

He looked at me and said, “That’s all in the past.” In the past. One sentence from him turned the child I lost into something he could just brush aside.

That day I walked out of his company, stood by the road, and cried for ten minutes. Then I wiped my tears, hailed a cab, and went to a law office.

Dylan stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, looking down at me. “Lily, I’m giving you a chance.” His tone softened. “If you admit now that the eight million was your own move, I’ll have my lawyer drop the suit.

We can part on good terms.” I looked at his face and suddenly felt sick. Three years.

I had shared a bed with this kind of man for three years. “Admit what?” “Admit the money was transferred by you without my approval.” “But you did approve it.” “Who can prove that?” He bit hard on the word “who.” The officers stood nearby and didn’t interrupt.

They were just doing their jobs.

They weren’t judges. “Dylan,” I said as I stood up, my ankle hurting so badly I winced, “do you think you’ve already got me cornered?” “I don’t think so.” He smiled. “I know so.” He walked to the entryway and opened the door.

Outside stood a man in a suit, holding a briefcase. “This is my lawyer, Walker,” Dylan said. “He’ll be handling this case from here on out.” Attorney Walker came in with a blank expression, like he had seen too many scenes like this before. “Ms.

Reed, I’m Mr. Reed’s attorney. I’m here today to discuss a possible settlement.” “Settle what?” “The issue of returning the eight million.” I laughed. “Return it?

That money isn’t even with me.” “But the money went out through transfers you processed,” Attorney Walker said, pushing his glasses up. “As the person responsible for company finances, you had a duty to review those transfers carefully.

You failed to do that, so you have to take responsibility.” “I was acting under the legal representative’s instructions.” “Can you prove that?” There it was again.

I took a deep breath. “I’ve already turned in the recordings, approval forms, and chat logs.” “We’ll verify them,” Attorney Walker said. “But while that’s being done, we’d like you to cooperate with the investigation and not leave the city for now.” “So this is you restricting my freedom?” “This is standard legal procedure.” I looked at Dylan, standing behind Attorney Walker with a smile on his face.

I had seen that smile before. At our wedding.

When he said, “I do.” When he said, “Babe, I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.” And now he was standing in my living room, with the police and a lawyer, trying to send me to prison. “Dylan.” I called his name.

He looked at me. “That woman is named Nora, right?” His smile faded a little. “You’re sure the baby in her belly is yours?” When I said that, the pregnant woman’s face tightened, but she quickly put on a pitiful look again and leaned lightly into Dylan’s arms.

Dylan’s face turned dark. “What are you talking about?” “I’m not talking about much.

I’m just asking.” I walked to the coffee table and took a sip from the glass of water. “Lily, stop changing the subject.” “I’m not changing the subject.” I put the glass down. “I’m just wondering if it’s worth it for you to send me in there for her.” Dylan frowned. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I pulled another sheet out of the folder. “This is a transfer record I found three months ago.” I raised my eyebrows and shifted my gaze. “Ms.

Walker, I think you’ll find this interesting.”