“That man,” she said, bringing me water, “is a special kind of foolish.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed. “He doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know what, honey?”
“Anything. He doesn’t know who I actually am.”
So I told her. All of it. The business I’d built, the lies I’d told, the inheritance I’d received that very morning.
When I finished, Angela was quiet for a long moment. Then she started laughing—genuine, full-body laughter. “Oh honey. Oh honey, no. You cannot tell him now. Do you understand? Whatever you were planning—throw it away. Let him file for divorce thinking you’re the broke little wife he’s leaving behind. Let him figure out what he lost after everything is finalized.”
“But that’s—”
“Justice,” Angela interrupted firmly. “That’s justice. He showed you exactly who he is. He’s a man who only values you for what he thinks you contribute financially, and he thinks you contribute nothing. Let him keep thinking that right until he signs away any claim to the fortune he doesn’t know exists.”
She was right. The Katherine who’d hidden her success wanted to rush after him, explain everything. But a different Katherine—the CEO I’d always been underneath—understood that Angela was offering me clarity. Marcus hadn’t asked if I was seriously injured. He’d used my hospitalization as an opportunity to end our marriage with a coldness that suggested he’d been planning it.
“How long do I have to stay here?” I asked Angela.
“A couple of days, probably. Why?”
“Because I need to make some phone calls. And I need to move fast.”
From my hospital bed, I orchestrated the most important meeting of my life. I called Rebecca first. “I’m fine. Well, not fine, but functional. Rebecca, Marcus asked me for a divorce.”
Silence. Then: “He what?”
“Right here in the hospital. He thinks I’m a financially dependent housewife. He has no idea about the company, the inheritance, any of it. And Rebecca? We need to keep it that way until the divorce is final.”
“Oh my God. Katherine, what do you need?”
“I need our attorney. I need an excellent divorce lawyer. I need a forensic accountant to audit our personal finances because I have a terrible feeling Marcus has been doing something with the accounts he thinks he controls. And I need all of it done quietly and quickly.”
She delivered in ninety minutes. By late evening, I’d had phone consultations with both attorneys and had a plan. My business attorney, Sandra Liu, was blunt: “If he doesn’t know about Wade Digital, we keep it that way. In New York, separate property remains separate.” My divorce attorney, James Rosewood, was equally direct: “Let him file first. Let him set the terms based on what he thinks your financial situation is. Don’t correct any of his assumptions. When he presents his proposed settlement—and I guarantee it’ll be insulting—we’ll respond.”
The plan was set. Now I just had to wait for Marcus to make his move.
The forensic accountant, a meticulous woman named Dr. Patricia Wong, called three days later. I was home by then, ankle in a surgical boot, working from my bed.
