My Brothers Betrayed Me at the Card Table , So I Took Everything They Had

When I heard all of that, something inside me went cold. Went dead.

Seven years.

I'd been with her since college graduation. We sold trinkets from a folding table on the sidewalk. We lived in a basement apartment with no windows.

Then I started the construction company, drinking myself half to death at client dinners night after night until I was vomiting blood from a stomach ulcer. All of it so she could have that sprawling downtown condo, so she could live like a rich man's wife.

And she took the money I'd nearly killed myself to earn, brought other men into our bed, and spent it on them.

She even wanted me dead.

"Great-Grandpa, what do I do?" My jaw was clenched so hard I felt a molar crack.

"Go home! The USB drive with the transferred assets is sewn into the lining of that designer handbag of hers! And the videos she filmed with those men are on a burner phone hidden in a secret compartment under her vanity! Get the evidence first, then make her wish she'd never been born!"

Half an hour later, I finally walked through my front door.

The apartment was pitch black. The bedroom door swung open and Beverly came out in a silk camisole, rubbing her eyes.

In the dim glow from the hallway, I could see it clearly: the hickey on her collarbone that hadn't fully faded, and the wide bruises darkening both her knees.

I clenched my teeth. Every muscle in my body screamed, but I forced the rage down.

"Honey, what took you so long?" She padded over, already leaning into me the way she always did, her voice a playful whine. "You reek of smoke. It's gross."

I stepped back half a pace, feigning exhaustion. "I'm wiped. Just need to rest. Go pour me a glass of water?"

The moment her back disappeared toward the kitchen, I slipped into the bedroom and locked the door behind me.

"Hurry! Bottom drawer of the vanity. There's a hidden compartment inside!"

I crossed the room in two strides, yanked the drawer open, and ran my palm along the underside. My fingers found it: a seam sealed with tape.

I ripped the tape away. An old iPhone tumbled out.

"The passcode is Humphrey's birthday. 1024!"

I punched it in. The screen unlocked.

What I found inside nearly made me crush the phone in my fist.

Thousands of photos. Dozens of high-definition videos. Beverly was in every single one.

But the men changed. And among them were all three of those bastards I'd sat across the card table from tonight.

In one video, Beverly laughed without a shred of shame. "Humphrey, you're so much better than Thaddeus. That useless waste comes home every night and passes out. I can't even stand looking at him."

"Caspar, once we drain Thaddeus's company dry and saddle him with the loan sharks, we'll buy a villa in Australia..."

My eyes burned red. I forwarded every last video to my encrypted cloud drive, then wiped the send history clean.

"Don't stop. The walk-in closet. The USB drive is in that designer handbag. Rip open the lining!"

I gritted my teeth, turned, and went straight for the closet. I found the bag and tore into the lining without hesitation.

Deep inside, my fingers closed around a small USB drive. This was it. Every record of her siphoning money from my company, every doctored ledger, every piece of ironclad proof.

I hid the drive, put everything back exactly as it was, and by the time she came in carrying the glass of water, I looked like nothing had happened.

"Honey, did you have fun tonight?"

She pressed herself against me, clinging.

But now, every time I looked at her, the images from those videos flashed through my mind. My stomach turned.

"Won a little money at cards last night. I'm exhausted. Going to sleep." I pushed her away.

That made Beverly angry.

"You! I went and got your water for you!"

"I said I'm going to sleep. Don't bother me."

I shot her a look.

She stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

Around noon, I was jolted awake by someone pounding on the door.

I opened it. Beverly stood in the doorway, and right beside her was that acid-tongued mother of hers.