The Morning My Divorce Became Final, I Canceled My Former Mother-in-Law’s Luxury Credit Card
PART 2: “It was my account, Grant.”
A brittle silence followed.
Then he laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“You embarrᴀssed her in front of the Ashcrofts. She was buying a necklace for tomorrow’s charity gala.”
“Then she can use her own money.”
“You have no idea what you’ve done.”
The call ended.
Two hours later, someone began pounding on my front door.
Grant.
Through the security camera, I watched him glance down the hallway before forcing a metal tool between the door and frame.
I called the police, but before the dispatcher finished asking for my address, the lock snapped.
Grant stormed inside.
His suit jacket was gone, his tie hung loose, and panic had replaced his usual confidence.
“Where is it?” he demanded.
I backed toward the kitchen. “Where is what?”
“The laptop.”
My eyes shifted involuntarily toward the desk.
He noticed.
Grant rushed across the room and grabbed the computer, but I stepped between him and the balcony doors.
“That belongs to me.”
“No,” he hissed. “It belongs to my family.”
That single sentence changed everything.
For months, I had suspected the Bellamy Foundation’s finances were fabricated. As a forensic accountant, I had discovered donations routed through shell companies, grants paid to nonexistent programs, and millions transferred into private accounts.
I had copied everything onto that laptop.
Grant lifted it over his head.
“You should’ve stayed ignorant, Maren.”
Before he could smash it, police sirens echoed below.
His expression hardened.
Then the laptop chimed.
A message appeared across the screen.
**UPLOAD COMPLETE. FILES DELIVERED TO FEDERAL INVESTIGATOR.**
Grant stared at it.
I stared too.
I had scheduled the transfer weeks earlier, but the notification underneath was one I had never seen.
**ADDITIONAL ARCHIVE ATTACHED BY: LUCIΝDA BELLAMY.**
Grant’s face drained of color.
“My mother wouldn’t betray us,” he whispered.
A shadow moved behind him.
Lucinda stood in my broken doorway, wearing diamonds, a fur coat, and a calm smile.
“Oh, Grant,” she said softly. “You were never the heir.”
Then she raised a gun—not at me, but at her son.
