My Husband's Secret Scorecard He Fined Me but Spoiled His Mistress

I finished everything and put the computer back exactly the way I'd found it.

Even the mouse hadn't moved a millimeter.

Then I picked up my cleaning rag and went to the bathroom to fish the hair out of the drain.

Three o'clock in the afternoon.

I was scrubbing the toilet.

My phone buzzed.

A WhatsApp message from Brad.

"I won't be home for dinner tonight. Firm event."

"Also, your points are short this month. Tomorrow's housework is all yours. And don't forget—interest on the IOU is due by the fifteenth."

I stared at the screen.

Typed one word back.

"Fine."

Monday.

I took a half day off work.

And went to the office of my college classmate, Oliver James.

Oliver had built a serious reputation handling marriage and family cases.

I slid the USB drive across the desk toward him.

"Take a look. Tell me if this is enough to leave him with nothing."

Oliver plugged the drive into his computer.

He went through it for over an hour.

The only sound in the office was the clicking of the mouse.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

"Gay, your husband is a real piece of work."

"How so?"

"This point system of his—legally speaking, it actually qualifies as a voluntary internal agreement between spouses. As long as it doesn't violate any mandatory legal provisions, it's enforceable."

"So the money he docked from me was legitimate?"

"On the surface, yes." Oliver pointed at the screen. "But his fatal mistake was transferring marital assets."

"The three hundred thousand."

"Exactly. Transferring a large sum of joint marital property to a third party without spousal consent. In legal terms, that's malicious dissipation of assets."

Oliver clicked open the images of those pink penalty slips.

"And then there's these. They serve as corroborating evidence of an illicit relationship between him and Mary Pruitt. There's no caught-in-the-act smoking gun, but combined with the three-hundred-thousand-dollar transfer, it forms a complete evidentiary chain."

"How much can I get back?"

"The three hundred thousand—you can demand full restitution. The gift was an unauthorized disposal of joint property, which makes it legally void."

"What about the rest of our money?"

"I went through the transaction records." Oliver flipped open several printed pages. "Beyond that three hundred thousand, over the past two years he's been buying her handbags, jewelry, and covering rent on a luxury apartment. Roughly another two hundred and fifty thousand, all pulled from the family fund."

I closed my eyes.

Six hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

He'd drained five hundred and fifty thousand of it.

Spent on another woman.

"If I file for divorce, how does the asset split work?" I asked.

"Given the severity of his misconduct—concealing and transferring marital assets—the court will award him a significantly reduced share. Possibly nothing at all."

Oliver studied me.

"Gay, when are you planning to lay your cards on the table?"

"Not yet." I opened my eyes. "He's up for Senior Partner at the firm next month, isn't he?"

Oliver blinked.

"How do you know that?"

"I overheard him on the phone at home. He said it was the most critical step in his career. That he couldn't afford a single piece of bad press."

Oliver smiled.

"Got it. You want to hit him where it hurts the most."

"He ran our marriage like a corporation," I said, rising to my feet. "So I'm going to give him a full-scale year-end audit."

After leaving Oliver's office, I went to the hospital.

My dad's condition had stabilized.

He'd been moved out of the ICU and into a regular room.

When I arrived, a caretaker was spooning oatmeal into his mouth.

"There's my girl." His face was still pale.

"Dad, how are you feeling?"