The mutual consent divorce hearing was incredibly fast, like every overworked family court in America.
The judge, a woman with a tired air, flipped through the file.
“Kemet and Zolani, have you thought this through?”
We replied in unison.
“Yes.”
“The parties agree that the minor son, Jabari, remains under the custody of the mother, Kemet, and the father, Zolani, is exempt from paying alimony. No shared assets or debts exist. Is this correct?”
My heart sank hearing “exempt from paying alimony,” but I pretended to lower my head and mumbled in a trembling voice,
“Yes, it’s correct.”
Zolani replied clearly and firmly.
“Correct, Your Honor.”
Zahara, sitting in the back row, smiled sideways. Her smile was like a thousand needles sticking into me.
Wait, darling. Laugh now, because you’ll cry soon.
“The court approves the divorce agreement. As of today, you are no longer husband and wife.”
The gavel struck.
Boom.
A dry sound that ended everything.
I left the courthouse with Jabari in my arms. Zolani and Zahara were ahead, whispering and laughing as if they had just gotten rid of a great weight. He didn’t even turn around to say goodbye to his son.
I stood in the rain, hugging my son tightly. I was free, a thirty-two-year-old woman betrayed by her husband, with nothing, a child in her arms in the middle of the rain.
This was the image Zolani wanted to see, and it was the image I gave him.
But he didn’t know the truth.
In the pocket of my old coat was a brand-new burner phone, and in my mother’s bank account, thirty-six million dollars.
I didn’t return to the dilapidated rental room I had moved to after leaving our house. No. That place was just part of the show.
I grabbed my son and ordered a luxury Uber to the most exclusive area of the Atlanta suburbs—a high-rise condo complex overlooking the Chattahoochee River.
“Please,” I told the driver when he looked at me in the rearview mirror, surprised to see a disheveled woman with a small child giving him such an address.
But I didn’t care.
I had used my money—well, my mother’s money, legally speaking. I had asked my mother to buy a luxury condo there in her name. I paid almost one million dollars for it. I needed an absolutely secure place for me and my son. A place with 24-hour security, controlled access, and a concierge. A place where Zolani wouldn’t think I could be even in his wildest dreams.
Entering the new apartment was like entering another world. A 3,000-square-foot condo with luxury furnishings, stainless steel appliances, floor-to-ceiling windows, and views of the river and the skyline. Jabari, who had only known our small house since he was born, was beaming at the sight of the space.
He shouted for joy and ran everywhere.
I set him down on the warm wooden floor and went to the bathroom.
I got under the shower, the water running strong and hot. I scrubbed myself as if I wanted to wash away all the dirty traces of the last year.
I cried. This time, I cried tears of relief.
That night, I ordered the best takeout food from a high-end restaurant. I didn’t need to look at prices. I bought a mountain of new toys for Jabari. I threw away all my old clothes.
I called my mother.
“Mama, I’m divorced now.”
My mother’s voice on the other end sounded relieved.
“Thank goodness you’re free, my daughter. And now, what are you going to do?”
I looked at the city of Atlanta, illuminated through the huge window. The lights shone like thousands of diamonds.
“Mama,” my voice sounded cold and determined. “Now is when I start. I’m not going to let them live in peace. I’m going to take everything back. I’m going to make them pay.”
I hung up the phone.
I opened my laptop. I opened the USB drive that Mrs. Eleanor had “accidentally” given me.
It was time to find one person—a person who hated Zolani as much as I did.
My revenge plan had officially begun.
The first name on my list was Malik, the former partner Zolani had told me about one drunken night, boasting about how he had pushed him out of the company.
I didn’t know much about Malik. I only vaguely remembered Zolani bragging that the company had been co-founded by both of them. Malik was from the technical side, professionally excellent, while Zolani handled the commercial side.
When the company started making a profit, Zolani used accounting tricks to deceive Malik, making him sign documents for fake debts and forcing him out of the company empty-handed and with a huge debt.
It sounded familiar.
Apparently, I wasn’t his first victim.
I couldn’t look for Malik personally at first. If I started asking questions and the news reached Zolani’s ears, he would immediately suspect.
An ex-wife looking for her husband’s former partner? Why?
I decided to use the money.
I searched online for a reliable private detective agency in Atlanta. I paid a considerable sum to find all the information about a man named Malik, the former founding partner of Zolani’s company. My request was clear: speed and absolute secrecy.
Three days later, I had a thick dossier on my desk.
Malik, forty-two years old. After being deceived by Zolani, he went bankrupt. His wife left him, and he currently owned a small metal fabrication workshop in Lithonia, Georgia, a small city east of Atlanta. The workshop was losing money and had debts with the bank and lenders. He was cornered.
Perfect.
A man who has nothing to lose is the most dangerous ally.
I drove my brand-new car—also in my mother’s name, of course—out along I-20 to Lithonia. I didn’t dress luxuriously. I wore a simple but clean and neat skirt suit. I didn’t want to scare him, but I also didn’t want him to underestimate me.
Malik’s workshop was on a dirt road behind a row of warehouses. It was a dilapidated shed with the sound of lathes and welding machines echoing. I walked in, and the smell of oil and rust filled my nostrils.
A middle-aged man, disheveled and with a grease-stained face, was fixing a machine. He looked defeated, but his eyes—his eyes were bright. The eyes of a talented but unlucky man.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Mr. Malik.”
The man looked up and wiped his hands with a rag. He squinted at me.
“That’s me. Who’s asking? Are you here to buy something?”
I shook my head.
“I’m not here to buy anything. I want to talk to you. A very important matter.”
Malik looked me up and down, suspicious.
“I don’t have time. As you can see, I’m busy. If it’s not work, I ask you to leave.”
“The matter is related to Zolani Jones,” I said quietly.
I had barely finished speaking when the wrench in his hand fell to the floor with a clatter. He jumped up, his body tense as a violin string, his eyes red with fury.
“What did you say? Zolani? Who are you? Did he send you?”
I looked him directly in the eyes and said clearly,
“My name is Kemet. I’m Zolani’s ex-wife.”
Malik was stunned, then laughed bitterly.
“Ex-wife? What kind of game is this? Did he send you here to take away this junky workshop? Go tell him I’d rather die than give it to him. I was tricked once. That was more than enough.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, my voice turning cold. “I’m just like you. I was also tricked by him. Kicked out of the house without a dime. He stole everything from me and is now living happily with his mistress.”
Malik’s look of rage slowly transformed into shock. He looked at me and saw the sincerity in my eyes. He saw the same hatred he felt.
“Are you serious?” he stammered.
“I didn’t come here to complain.” I stepped closer. “I came to ask you a question. Do you hate him? Do you want to take back everything he stole from you? Do you want to see him bankrupt, empty-handed, just like he made us?”
In that noisy, dirty workshop, two people—two victims of Zolani—looked at each other. I saw a flame rekindle in Malik’s eyes from the ashes.
He clenched his teeth.
“Hate? I want to tear him apart. I want to see him dead.”
I nodded.
“Great. Then, Mr. Malik, let’s become partners.”
Malik looked at me suspiciously.
“Partners? You say you don’t have money. I’m also about to close down. What can two people with nothing do against him?”
I smiled slightly—a smile I had held back for a long time.
“You’re half right. You are about to close down. I, on the other hand…”
I opened my briefcase and took out a dossier.
“I have nothing except two things. First, evidence of tax evasion, asset diversion, and all the real accounting for Zolani’s company.”
Malik’s eyes widened. He grabbed the dossier with trembling hands and started skimming through it. Being in the industry, he immediately understood that it was genuine.
“God… my God. How did you get this?”
“You don’t need to know how,” I continued in a calm voice. “And second, and more importantly—how much money do you need to destroy his company?”
Malik looked at me as if I were a monster. He didn’t understand what was happening. A woman who had just been kicked out of the house with nothing, with secret ledgers and asking how much money he needed.
“He must think I’m joking with him,” I thought.
“The Zolani of today is not the same as before,” Malik said slowly. “His company is strong. He has many contacts. Destroying him is not a joke. It takes a lot of money.”
“How much is ‘a lot’?” I asked directly. “You are the best at the technical side, the production. You know his strengths and weaknesses. Tell me.”
Malik took a deep breath. The flame in his eyes ignited. It was the opportunity of his life.
“To destroy him, we can’t compete in small things. We have to take a different, faster, stronger path. His merchandise comes mainly from China—old, cheap models. But lately the market prefers the high quality of Japan. If we secure an exclusive distribution contract with a major Japanese brand, use new technology to produce better products at competitive prices, we can steal all his big clients.”
He began pacing.
“For that, we need a new modern factory, a new production line, and most importantly, capital. Money to negotiate with the Japanese partners, money to pay the debts of this workshop of mine.” He paused and looked at me, almost shouting. “At least, at least five hundred thousand dollars is the minimum.”
He stated the amount as a test. He thought I would faint.
I remained silent for a moment.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
In my revenge plan, that amount was already anticipated.
I looked him directly in the eyes.
“Agreed. I will give you five hundred thousand dollars.”
Once again, the workshop seemed to go silent. The sound of the machines outside faded in my mind.
“You…” Malik took a step back. “Are you in your right mind? Half a million? Where are you going to get that money?”
“I won’t waste time with talk,” I said.
I took out my phone and opened my mother’s credit union app. I had full power of attorney. I hid the total balance, but I showed him the transfer screen.
“Mr. Malik, I don’t have time for jokes. I have the money. Where it comes from, you don’t need to know. You only need to know that it is clean money and that it is for our revenge.”
I continued,
