Instead, I made myself a fresh cup of coffee and sat by the window, watching the snow fall thicker now. Our beautiful suburban house in Boston looked like a Christmas card. A house I had paid for with my own family money — the one Victor always liked to forget.
At 5:30 a.m., my lawyer called.
“Claire, everything is done. The FBI will pick him up at the airport. The accounts he tried to drain are frozen. Olivia’s brother’s shell company has already been flagged for fraud.”
I took a slow sip of coffee.
“Thank you, Richard. Make sure they get the full folder I sent you.”
By 7:00 a.m., Victor sent another message:
“You think this is funny? I’ll ruin you when I come back.”
I replied with just two words:
“Try me.”
P3:
By 9:30 a.m., the news started spreading.
A friend of mine who worked at the airport sent me a video. Victor and Olivia were surrounded by federal agents right at the security checkpoint. Olivia was crying, still wearing my diamond tennis bracelet. Victor looked pale, shouting something about “this is a misunderstanding.”
I saved the video.
At 10:15 a.m., Victor’s mother called me, sobbing.
“Claire, please! They’re taking my son away! What did you do?!”
I answered calmly.
“What I should have done a long time ago, Mother. I protected myself and everything I built.”
She screamed at me, calling me heartless. I hung up.
By noon, Olivia’s parents had also contacted me. They were shocked. Their “innocent” daughter was now being questioned as an accomplice in financial fraud.
I didn’t feel joy. I felt justice.
