Chapter 4
The next few days were a blur.
David’s team worked around the clock.
The forensic accountant uncovered more and more.
Julian had been siphoning money for eighteen months.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger ones.
He had set up three separate shell companies.
All registered to different addresses.
All controlled by him.
And Elena.
The PI found that Elena was listed as a “consultant” for each company.
She had been receiving regular payments.
$5,000 a month.
For “services rendered.”
Services that didn’t seem to exist.
The total amount Julian had stolen from our joint accounts came to $412,000.
And that was just what they could prove.
David said there was probably more.
Hidden in offshore accounts.
Or given to Elena in cash.
“It’s going to take time,” David told me over the phone. “But we’ll find every penny. And we’ll get it back.”
I appreciated his confidence.
But I also knew that getting money back from a determined thief was never easy.
Especially when that thief was my husband.
My best friend, Rachel, came home early from her conference.
She showed up at my door with takeout and a bottle of wine.
“I can’t believe I missed all of this,” she said, setting the food on the kitchen counter. “If I had been here, I would have punched him in the face at the airport.”
I managed a small smile.
Rachel had always been the protective one.
“I’m glad you’re here now,” I said.
She pulled me into a hug.
And for the first time since the airport, I let myself really cry.
Rachel held me while I sobbed.
She didn’t say anything.
She just held me.
When I finally stopped crying, she handed me a glass of wine.
“Okay,” she said, wiping her own eyes. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”
I told her.
About the airport.
About the recording.
About David and the freeze order.
About Julian showing up at the door.
About the forged documents and the shell companies.
About Elena.
Rachel listened.
Her face got darker and darker.
When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.
Then she said something that stopped me cold.
“I met her, you know.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Elena,” Rachel said. “At the company Christmas party last year. I talked to her for, like, twenty minutes. She asked all these questions about you. About the house. About your father’s estate. I thought she was just being friendly. Now I realize she was gathering intel.”
My blood ran cold.
This had been going on for over a year.
Julian had brought her into our lives.
Introduced her to my friends.
All while they were planning to destroy me.
“She asked about my father’s estate?” I said.
Rachel nodded.
“Specifically about the house. She wanted to know if you owned it outright. If there was a mortgage. If you had any other properties.”
I closed my eyes.
Julian had probably told her to ask.
He knew Rachel and I told each other everything.
He had used my best friend against me.
“Bastard,” I whispered.
“Sarah,” Rachel said, taking my hand. “You need to know something else. I suspected something was wrong. Months ago. Julian started acting different. Secretive. He was always on his phone. And then there was the money.”
“The money?”
“Remember when you told me he borrowed $20,000 from you? For that ‘emergency equipment purchase’?”
I nodded.
“It wasn’t for equipment,” Rachel said. “I saw him at the jewelry store that same week. He was buying a bracelet. A really nice one. I thought maybe it was for your anniversary. But you never mentioned getting a bracelet.”
I felt sick.
He had borrowed my money.
To buy jewelry for another woman.
“I should have said something,” Rachel said, her voice filled with guilt. “I should have told you. But I didn’t have proof. And I didn’t want to cause problems if I was wrong.”
I squeezed her hand.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “He fooled everyone. Including me.”
That night, after Rachel left, I went through old photos.
Pictures of Julian and me.
Our wedding day.
Our first anniversary.
The day we brought home our dog, Max.
Max had passed away two years ago.
I wondered if Julian had even cared.
Or if he had already started planning his escape by then.
I found a photo from our wedding.
Julian was smiling at me.
His eyes were full of love.
Or what I had thought was love.
Now I wondered if it had ever been real.
Had he married me for love?
Or had he married me for the house?
For the money?
For the stability I represented?
I threw the photo across the room.
It hit the wall and the glass shattered.
I didn’t care.
The next morning, David called.
“Julian filed for divorce,” he said.
I sat down hard on the couch.
It was one thing to know it was coming.
Another to hear it out loud.
“On what grounds?”
“Irreconcilable differences,” David said. “He’s asking for spousal support. And half of everything. Including the house.”
I laughed.
It was a bitter, hollow sound.
“Half of everything? He already stole half of everything. And the house isn’t even marital property.”
“I know,” David said. “But he’s going to argue that it became marital property when you refinanced. He’s also claiming that the business is entirely his and that you have no right to any of it.”
“Let him try,” I said. “We have the recording. We have the forged documents. We have the shell companies.”
“We do,” David said. “But Julian isn’t going to go down easy. He’s hired Richard Perkins.”
I knew that name.
Richard Perkins was the most ruthless divorce attorney in Denver.
He was expensive.
And he was good.
Julian was pulling out all the stops.
“How bad is this?” I asked.
“It means he’s going to fight dirty,” David said. “Perkins will try to discredit you. He’ll dig into your past. He’ll try to make you look like the villain. He’ll try to paint Julian as the victim of a bitter, paranoid wife.”
“Let him try,” I said again. But my voice was less confident this time.
“Sarah,” David said gently. “This is going to get ugly. Really ugly. Are you sure you’re ready?”
I thought about Julian’s face when he realized I had recorded him.
The hatred in his eyes.
I thought about my father.
About the house he had built with his own hands.
About the life Julian had tried to steal from me.
“I’m ready,” I said.
The first court date was set for two weeks later.
A temporary orders hearing.
David wanted to make sure the account freeze stayed in place.
That Julian couldn’t touch any more of my money.
That the house remained mine.
In the meantime, the discovery process began.
David’s team subpoenaed all of Julian’s financial records.
His bank accounts.
His business records.
His phone records.
His emails.
Julian’s team did the same to me.
They wanted everything.
My bank records.
My emails.
My social media.
My medical records.
They were looking for anything they could use against me.
Any weakness.
Any mistake.
I didn’t have anything to hide.
But that didn’t make it any less invasive.
One afternoon, I was going through old files in the attic.
David had asked for any documentation related to the house.
Receipts.
Renovation records.
The original closing documents.
I found a box labeled “Dad’s Tools - Manuals.”
I opened it.
Inside were old instruction manuals.
Receipts for building materials.
And a small, leather-bound notebook.
I recognized it immediately.
It was my father’s.
He had carried it everywhere.
Jotting down notes.
Measurements.
Ideas.
I sat down on the dusty floor and opened it.
The first few pages were filled with measurements for the fireplace.
Then notes about the roof.
Then the kitchen renovation.
I flipped through the pages, smiling through my tears.
I could almost hear his voice.
Then I came to a section near the back.
Dated six months before he died.
“Sarah’s future,” he had written.
Underneath were notes.
About protecting assets.
About setting up trusts.
About making sure she was never taken advantage of.
“Julian seems like a good kid,” he had written. “But good kids can change. Or turn out to be not so good after all. Better to be prepared. Just in case.”
I closed my eyes.
Tears fell onto the notebook.
My father had known.
Not specifically about Julian.
But about the world.
About how people could change.
About how love could blind you.
He had prepared me.
Even when I didn’t know I needed preparing.
I found David’s number in the notebook.
Underlined.
With a note: “Call him if anything seems wrong. He’ll take care of you.”
My father had given me everything I needed to fight back.
He had given me the house.
He had given me David.
He had given me the strength to stand up for myself.
I closed the notebook and held it to my chest.
“I won’t let you down, Dad,” I whispered.
I gathered the documents and went downstairs.
As I reached the bottom step, the doorbell rang.
I checked the security camera.
It wasn’t Julian.
It was a process server.
I opened the door.
“Sarah Miller?”
“Yes.”
He handed me a stack of papers.
“You’ve been served.”
I took the papers.
He left.
I closed the door and looked down at the documents.
They were Julian’s divorce filings.
And attached to them was a request for a restraining order.
Against me.
Julian was claiming that I had threatened him.
That I had become violent.
That he feared for his safety.
It was all lies.
But that didn’t matter.
Richard Perkins was already fighting dirty.
And this was just the beginning.
I picked up my phone and called David.
“He’s filed for a restraining order,” I said.
David swore.
“I’ll handle it,” he said. “We’ll get it thrown out. But Sarah? He’s declared war. And we need to be ready to fight back twice as hard.”
I looked at my father’s notebook in my hand.
May you like
“I’m ready,” I said.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I actually meant it.
