"I want it handled cleanly," I said. "No yelling, no chaos. Just paperwork and poetic justice." Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. "I like your style, Mr. Carver. Calm vengeance is my favorite flavor."
For the next hour, we quietly rearranged my life like we were redecorating after a flood. House title under my name only, legally transferred through a quiet amendment she drafted before I'd even finished explaining. Joint accounts locked. Cards flagged for suspicious activity.
Mrs. Delgado typed so fast it sounded like vengeance had a soundtrack. "Your wife's about to learn," she said, "that silence isn't forgiveness. It's strategy." I nodded.
"I just want to protect what's mine and maybe give karma a little nudge." "Consider it done," she said. "You'll sign papers today. I'll file by morning, and by the time she realizes what's happening, she'll be swiping a declined card at Target."
Music to my ears. By the time I left her office, I felt ten pounds lighter, and not just emotionally. It's amazing how freeing it feels to turn heartbreak into logistics. I drove home, windows down, wind in my face, blasting "We Are the Champions" because irony is a coping mechanism.
When I got home, I made myself a sandwich, sat at the kitchen table, and just admired my work. The silence in the house didn't feel lonely anymore. It felt earned. Then my phone buzzed.
Belinda: "Hey, why is my card not working?" I stared at the screen, chewed my sandwich slowly, and smiled. Then I typed back, "Maybe it's seeing other people."
Read at 6:17 p.m. No reply. I laughed out loud. Even Milo looked impressed.
"Don't look at me like that, buddy," I told him. "You'd do the same if you had thumbs." A few minutes later, she called. I didn't pick up.
I wanted her to marinate. Ten minutes after that, another text. Belinda: "I'm trying to buy groceries. What's going on?"
Me: "Maybe karma's cutting carbs." I tossed my phone aside and poured myself a drink. God, it felt good. Not cruel, just balanced.
The universe had been tipping in her favor for too long, and I was just redistributing resources. Around eight, Tar called. "You sound happy," he said suspiciously. "I met Delgado," I said.
"The lawyer?" "Yeah. She's like if Judge Judy and Wonder Woman had a love child." He laughed.
"That good?" "She reorganized my financial life in an hour. I feel spiritually audited." He whistled.
"So, what's next?" "Now," I said, leaning back, "now I wait. Delgado's filing the paperwork, locking down the rest of the accounts, and I'm sitting here watching justice slow-cook."
He chuckled. "Damn, you really went full spreadsheet on this." "Of course," I said. "If she can multitask between lies, I can multitask between revenge and meal prep."